Hetafata: The Snarled Circle Chronicles
by Syntax-N
Summary: Roderich is a frail yet gifted human boy with a dream to write symphonies. Gilbert is a frail yet gifted changeling boy with a dream to turn Roderich into a chicken. A series following both from childhood to adults as they confront darkness, magic, hatred, romance, stolen shoes, cursed children, too much cake, and an unreasonable amount of mackerel.
1. 1:1 Snarled Circle

**Book 1: Blue**

* * *

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**1\. Snarled Circle**

**A most accursed bond is wrought, and a pair of terrible fates is sealed.**

* * *

It was the worst sort of summer day. The sky was an uncertain, mottled gray, and a hot wind ambled aimlessly on through, and the air was so sticky, one could hardly stand outside without wishing for a bath. The birds flew about, chirping cheerfully and finding any excuse to look busy. The caterpillars lay lazy and fat on their leaves, finding any excuse to _not _look busy. It was a day in which there was everything to do, and yet the fierce heat which pressed down upon the land only locked nature in a listless, humid apathy.

But it had rained overnight. Gertrude Edelstein informed everyone of this, and then informed everyone again. The poor woman was so much filled with feelings of listlessness and restlessness that she felt it was quite her duty to open her mouth and inform everyone of every little thing. Then, because of her overwrought nature, she was wont to share a _thought _on every little thing.

And rain was the source of a great many thoughts.

"It is _much _too hot for coats today. I don't think I'll be able to go out in that sun. But it did rain last night, didn't it? That will have made the ground much too wet. Just another reason to stay in. Though I would love to see what the rain has done to the flowers! It hasn't rained in such a long time, and the poor flowers looked all droopy yesterday. We must cut the gardener's salary if he continues to wait for rain! Dear, do you think the rain will make it hard to travel? I can only assume it will rain again tonight. Does rain ever affect business?"

"Whether it rains or not, business goes on," her husband grumbled from the head of the breakfast table, flipping through his newspaper and ignoring most of what his wife rambled on about. He'd hardly touched his toast and sausage, yet his coffee cup had been twice emptied.

Lord Ulrich was a man of muttonchops and monocles. He was first a businessman, second a gentleman, and third an entrepreneur with a peculiar interest in the workings of the occult. His reputation named him a benefactor, but like all Edelsteins before him, he honored frugality above all else. His most prized possessions were his clippers and a large collection of cravats he'd accumulated over various holidays abroad. (He'd worn the same sour expression on each excursion, thinking about how much money would've been saved if he'd just stayed home.) His coffee was cheap, his socks hand-knitted by his wife, and his capacity for smiling long expended.

Gertrude stuck her pointed nose in the air. "Should we invite a few guests for dinner?"

"Not if it rains."

"Of course. I hope it won't rain again. I didn't invite such nasty weather to our home. Although, if you are going to cut the gardener's salary—"

"Oh no, my dear. We can keep the gardener. We'll just forget about the _doctor _and the _sprite _and hold part of their payments for the gardener as an incentive."

Instantly, a tension settled over the breakfast table. The maid who was filling Gertrude's cup with coffee froze, nearly spilling all over the crocheted doily beneath. She finished the task and promptly excused herself, knowing the slighting of these men could be the kindling for an explosive argument.

"Do you mean to say—"

"You should know I've meant to say it for weeks now if you've paid any attention at all. The sprite's practices are cause for concern."

"What of his practices? Gigi is simply lovely!"

"He's preaching nonsense and teaching our son _wizardry." _

"You can't insult Gigi for the way he speaks. He comes from a very different culture. The power of the heart is a common theme in Allegria. And he is not teaching our son wizardry. He's simply a music tutor, and Roddy adores him. He's learning the harpsichord so quickly!"

"Faster than any child should learn a skill."

"You still don't believe our Roddy is a prodigy."

"You're still not looking at how much we pay that _doctor_ to come into our house, make our son believe he's sick, and accost us with jargon!"

"He can't handle stress!"

"So tell the doctor to fix him and take his business elsewhere!"

"He can't be fixed! He can only be medicated! If you'd even listened any time the doctor has been here, you could've asked questions and understood the situation."

"I know that situation all too well. We can take him to get some sea air or shut him up by himself in the country if you can show me where the money is coming from."

"Shutting up a child by himself?"

"At least tell me Roderich understands that it will be his responsibility to take care of his "issues" should they pursue him into adulthood. Does he know he's going to be a businessman?"

"He will compose symphonies."

"He'll make no money in the arts! He'll only bring shame upon himself!"

"It's always money with you."

"That child is costing us too much money!"

The maid waited in earnest outside the breakfast room, waiting and counting on her fingers.

_"__Ulrich! _He is our _son! _He is not eight years old! Do my ears deceive me when they hear his own father calling him nothing more than a useless burden that can be shut up and ignored? _Listen to yourself!" _

There it was — the screeching condemnation not even Lord Ulrich could respond to. And now the spluttering fallout would commence, the two of them would realize how very silly they were acting, (yet not admit it,) and breakfast would continue as normal. The maid rolled up her sleeves and returned to clear away the table.

When she had finished this, she went outside to beat the rugs and considered all that life had given her.

Edelweiss was an enormous estate. The mansion itself had seven bedrooms — each papered and embellished for a certain theme. The gardens were much too large and splendorous to be tended by a single gardener, and that didn't include the orchards of fruit trees beyond. There were four maids and two butlers and a gardener and cooks and two governesses. The Edelsteins and their children should've smiled at their good fortune and many luxuries. Instead, they stuck their pointed noses in the air and acknowledged only the sour details in life.

The maid frowned as she shook a priceless rug and watched a cloud of dust and dirt spill from its fringes. They were such a _messy _family as well! If they had any grace to pick up their belongings and make their own beds, perhaps Ulrich wouldn't whinge about how much it cost for the hired help to do it.

Still, the maids had forged a fierce camaraderie with each other, and they agreed they could tuck sheets and fold laundry better than even the stewards of the duchy. No one could change their minds about that.

"Kristine! _Buongiorno!" _

The musical voice brought her mind out of the dingy thoughts and filled her heart with delight. A wide smile crossed her face when she looked up, only to be blinded by two pairs of glittery bronze wings and the man who proudly bore them.

"Gigi! You're here so early!"

"Eh, I thought I could try to sing the little ones awake," Gigi said, flitting over to her and planting quick kisses on her cheeks.

Gianfranco Roma's brownish-bronze eyes were filled with stardust, and his smile was reminiscent of the warm sun beating down on a vineyard. But truly, his _voice _was his most marvelous feature. With it, he could sing grapes into wine and weave songs into spells. He could make instruments play by themselves. And, if he put his heart into it, he could bend nature to his will and bring rain upon the earth. (Gertrude was quite impressed with this.) The good fairy was not eighteen, and he'd already established himself to the household not only as the son of the great enchanter Roma, but also as a talented adept and the perfect tutor.

Kristine pinked. "How was the trip back to Allegria?"

"It was great! I missed seeing the vineyards! My papà's expecting some delicious wine this year! You have not lived until you've tried Allegrian wine. There's _magic_ in the grapes."

"Is that where your powers come from?"

"Maybe! If strong magic comes from a happy heart, maybe the sad fairy who imbibes can be twice as powerful."

"Always quick-witted, aren't you? Well, the two big noses are finishing breakfast. Johannes is no doubt studying, and Clara is away, so little Roderich is all yours. I know he's missed you. He never stops talking about you. I do hate to say it, but perhaps he thinks of you more as a father than Ulrich."

The fairy pursed his lips. "I hope not! I'm not old enough to be a papà, and even if I was, I don't spend enough time here to seem like one. I know Ul-reesh doesn't like me, but he should at least like Rode-reesh. I'm just trying to help Roddy do what he likes."

(Of course, Gigi also quite liked his payments. His muted views on magic superiority gave him power over those who thought his gifts extraordinary, and he was able to squeeze more money out of the Edelstein pocketbook than Ulrich realized.)

"Just… just… Whatever it is you're doing to make him learn so quickly, you must tone it down a bit. Ulrich suspects you're teaching the boy _wizardry." _

"Teaching him wizardry? Is that bad?"

"So you are?"

"No, of course not! My musical powers might focus his mind, but I'm not enchanting him on purpose. He's just very smart, and that's why he's learning so fast… That is, unless he has a little fairy blood in him."

This simple jest made the maid wring the rug. Her lips stiffened, and she rolled her shoulders back in anxious thought.

"You mustn't speak that way, Gigi. Haven't you heard the rumors?"

"No. Is there something wrong?"

"One of the other maids, Claudine, visited a cousin in Amotoile last month. She came back white as a ghost and preaching that children had been _taken _in every town she passed through. Gone without traces, except for the _creatures _in their places. I know the Isle of Rain is experiencing similar issues. And here, we've heard the same thing. In fact, it's closer than you know."

The lazy wind whispered through the leaves. The maid glanced around wildly, then took Gigi by the arm and pulled him quickly into the parlor. He had barely the time to fold his wings down before they could smack the top of the doorframe.

"We've seen_ them_ around Edelweiss. Two of them. I saw one, and Ulrich saw the other. We think they want Roderich. He's a young, well-off child. Maybe they can smell his blood. Oh, who knows what they want with him? All I know is that they do something horrible to the children they take and then wear their shapes to feed off the host families. They can transform themselves down to the smallest details. They can even play tricks on the mind to beguile anyone who doubts they're really innocent children."

Gigi nodded. "I know the rumors. We haven't had anyone taken, but we've taken precautions. It's been custom for over a century to gift children with a pair of scissors. Iron repels them well. What did they look like when you saw them?"

"They were like skeletons. They had deep, dark eyes and fingers like claws. Their ears were pointed like yours, but all stretched out. And they were so pale. I don't want to even think of them. The two seen around this place were easily taken care of. Lord Ulrich is a notary. All he has to do is fill out and sign the execution form, and the creatures are gone from sight."

"He goes right to execution?"

"You know how Ulrich is. He believes in all that old lore about pentagrams and moonless nights. I suppose if it stops the evil from stealing children, we have a right to trust it."

"I'll be on my guard. If it's Roddy they're after, you can be sure a fairy of light like me will stand up to the creatures of darkness."

Gigi had just finished speaking when a shrill shriek echoed throughout the entire mansion. It was the voice of Gertrude, and its source seemed to be the back door at the other end of the house — the entrance to the garden. The two shared a worried look before swiftly following the shriek.

They found the poor, distraught woman in the hallway kneeling down in front of her youngest son. He trembled terribly and clutched his chest while she wiped him with a wet cloth. His soft brunet hair was sticky, and his face was smeared with blood.

"Don't fret, Roddykins, my sweet! You're all right! You're safe now! The awful creature is gone! Your papa will destroy it! You're safe!"

"Milady? What's happened?" Kristine asked.

At that moment, Lord Ulrich burst through the door, red in the face and scowling.

"Gertrude, we can keep the gardener. We're firing the governess for negligence. She left him alone in the garden!"

"G-good, good. And the… the _creature?" _

"Sedated and stuffed in a sack. It was only a small one this time. I'll write out the paperwork immediately. Tonight's new moon. By morning, all the evil in that _imp _will have dissolved from this earth."

"W-was it really wearing his shape?"

Ulrich nodded, and for once, a spark of true concern flashed in his eyes.

* * *

It was the worst sort of summer day. The birds had awoken much too early, and with them, Roderich Edelstein groggily ascended from his hazy dreams. There was no returning to the realm of sleep with that kind of racket, and though he wished earnestly for another childish whimsy, it seemed his daily fate was drawn.

He was the youngest of the three Edelstein children. He had yet to grow into the long face and pointed nose, but he had already inherited the dark hair and sniffing quirk his parents were known for. Like his father, he was miserly. Like his mother, he was shrewd. And like neither of them, he was a meager boy with a scratchy voice and a fondness for music.

He washed, dressed, and combed, then followed his cantankerous governess down to a private breakfast with his older brother. Johannes was taciturn as usual. He only sipped his coffee and perused through books of accounts to look for patterns. Roderich much preferred his sister, Clara, who acknowledged him every time he walked in the room.

The sausage was eaten in silence again, though with plenty of tips from his governess on how to sit with proper posture and request further helpings in a polite and showy manner. One of these days, Roderich swore he would tell her he was _not _a girl, and as such, he should be able to be as disinterested in table manners as his brother and father. But no. As it was, he was neither a lady nor a gentleman, but an ignorant, unimportant child, and a sickly one at that.

"May I practice my harpsichord, Mathilde?" He asked rather curtly.

"You will call me _milady, _and no, you may not. Your parents are having breakfast. You do not want to disturb them."

"When will Gigi return?"

"Eventually."

"You don't know when?"

"I'm not concerned with sprites. I'm concerned with your education and wellbeing."

_I would be well if I could practice, _he thought, a slight scowl contorting his features. He had been working on a piece since Gigi left, and he'd nearly mastered it! If only he could play the chords at the end right and remember the crescendo, he could play it absolutely perfect!

Ah, but no. Mathilde's weathered hands and polished nails pulled all the strings. It wasn't as if Roderich hated being pampered, but he would have liked just a bit more coddling instead of this tough love Ulrich presented him with. By all accounts, the boy knew his father disliked him, and he knew Mathilde's curtness was an indirect way of showing it.

He also knew that one day, he would prove himself a worthy son.

"We will take a walk in the garden," the governess cawed. Oh well, at least he could imagine the birds were performing their own impromptu symphony.

She led him through the halls to the back door. Right outside was the little stone archway leading into the cobblestone maze of the garden. Leafy hedges lined the whole place like an enclosure. There were patches of drooping flowers all soaked and sopping with leftover rain. Sunken bits of the path hid under warm puddles. The cloudy sky was a disappointment, but there was still enough light to make Roderich wince when it shone in his crystal-blue eyes.

"Come along, young master. You need your fresh air."

The boy sighed and followed suit, holding his chin up the same way his father always did when he wanted to look important. He gazed up at the trees. The leaves blowing in the wind seemed to flicker and shift in the breeze. Birds darted to and fro in the branches. They flew down to hop about on the grass, tilting their heads to listen and then snatching up worms for breakfast.

Already, the heat was beating down and seeping through his coat. Roderich breathed in, but the air was too humid for comfort. It would certainly rain again later today. Perhaps then, he could stay inside and practice his harpsichord to his heart's content. All would be made to bear its twanging timbre as he played the same passage over and over again. A devious smile crept upon his lips as he pictured it.

"Young master! You have tracked through every puddle! Your shoes are filthy!"

Had he? Oh, he was being absentminded again. He had hoped his slow, meandering tempo would at least separate him from her by a few hundred meters. But no. She had learned his tricks, and she slowed her own pace to match his. Only this time, she failed to notice that he failed to notice the puddles. His fault of absentmindedness had conspired with his subconscious, and Mathilde had been spited truly for the first time that day.

They were deep into the garden now. To the left, a dirt pathway led off into the dark, shadowy orchard, and to the right, a row of hedges concealed the white majesty of the mansion rising above the garden's grandeur. Wild vines snaked along the stones of the well-traveled path. The scent of soil was drowned out by an electric aroma of rain in the air.

"Shall we go back?" Roderich asked.

"You will see the whole garden, and by that time, your parents will have finished breakfast. You will meet them and continue to your studies."

"But my—"

"I will fetch you a dry pair of shoes. Do not wander off by yourself!"

She left him, then. Roderich hated being left alone. He would've chased after her, but that notion was ludicrous. Chasing after Mathilde, as if he wanted to spend more time with her? Ludicrous and laughable. Instead, Roderich balled his hands into fists. He cursed. He kicked a stone off into the dirt pathway. He ruffled his hair and scowled. He threw off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to escape the heat.

Then he heard something.

Footsteps. Very light footsteps padding along the moistened earth. And they were coming from the orchard.

Curious, he looked over his shoulder before stepping out onto the dirt pathway. It was much cooler there with the shade of the trees to protect him. He peered around, but saw nothing but leaves and grass and stones populating the shady ground. The shadows shifted as the breeze blew on through the canopy. A few leaves fluttered down to land in his hair and stick to his clothes. Slowly, he stooped to pick up the stone he'd kicked.

"Hello?"

More footsteps. The sound of claws scrabbling on dirt. A hissing breath.

Still, he saw no one. Unnerved, Roderich stepped back onto the cobblestone path. He turned to navigate onward through the garden. He would have preferred to traverse with dry shoes, but time was of the essence, and time with his harpsichord was of utmost importance.

"Hello."

Roderich's hand flew to his heart. He knew what was coming. Sudden fright always brought about the racing, burning sensation in his chest. He glanced around wildly for a place to sit down if he felt lightheaded, but he could already feel the strain. His heart was struggling to dig itself right out of his body. He whimpered and settled with sitting on the dirty stone path, a dreadful chill settling over his skin.

Then he saw the creature slinking out from the shadows.

It was no more the size of a toddler, but in every sense of the word, it was a monster. Its pasty skin was pulled taut over its bones. Its nails were like claws, and its teeth were like needles. Stretched, pointed ears flicked at the sides of its head. Eyes the color of blood bulged from its angled skull. It wore nothing but a ragged pillowcase around its feeble form.

"Hello," it said again. Its voice was a slurring rasp that sounded deeper and older than it should have. Its lips stretched wide in a hideous attempt at a smile.

Roderich whined in his throat. He clutched his chest with both hands and kicked at the creature. The creature flinched, then hunched down and held its withered hands up in pitiful protest.

"No, no," it whined. "Do… do not… not be afraid, please!"

"You… you're one of those _imps,_ aren't you!? The ones that steal children! Get away from me!"

"No! Please! Do… you… you want… to be… friend?"

"Your friend? No, I don't want to be your friend! You're just trying to steal my life! Get the hell away! Get out of here, you freak!"

Tears bubbled up in the creature's eyes. Then its ears perked, and it crawled even closer to the ailing child.

"Wait! I… I will not be freak! I change so you… you not afraid!"

Roderich could hardly understand the creature's garbled half-speak. His heart wouldn't calm itself. It was fluttering madly in his chest, and the more he looked at the creature's skull of a face, the more he felt he was dying of fright.

But… it wasn't a skull now… was it?

Roderich stared. The creature seemed to be… _changing. _It winced and cried out in pain as its pale flesh writhed over the bones. Slowly but surely, a healthy suffusion crept over its skin. First its sunken cheeks, then its thin neck and bony body began to swell and plump. Knobbly limbs bubbled and filled out to become soft and smooth. The creature watched tearfully as its little claws receded and flattened into smooth pink nails. It then clutched the sides of its head to feel how its ears were shrinking.

It shrieked, then. Sickening cracks and vile gurglings issued from its body. The back of its neck bulged with vertebrae. The creature threw itself down on its hands and knees and whined as its body grew. Chubby little hands pulled out into slender ones. Puffy cheeks smoothed and spread out over a new, most familiar face. The wispy white hair thickened and darkened until it was a wavy, shiny brunet. The pointed nose rounded. The red eyes cooled and faded to blue.

The creature lifted its head. Roderich looked on in disgusted horror. The thing had transformed until it looked, in every way, _exactly _like him. It smiled again, though the fleshy mask of its disguise couldn't quite contort in a way to look natural.

"S-see?" It whispered. Its voice had become a scratchy whine. "Now… do not be afraid."

Oh, what horror! This must be a mind trick! The creature was trying to be _friendly! _It thought him stupid and callow! Trembling, Roderich pushed himself up with one arm and began to stumble back the way he'd come. He settled his gaze ahead and dared not look back. He was slow in every fashion, but if he could distance himself from this thing—

"No! Do not run! Do not be afraid!"

Roderich gasped and quickened his pace. The imp was following him. He could hear its footsteps trailing behind.

"I don't want you here! You cannot take me away! I will never let my life be yours!" He scolded.

"What? No… I just… I want a friend. I want a friend… to play."

To _play?_

The mind trick was crude, but perhaps this was a young creature. It thought children liked playing. All it wanted was to lead him away into the forest, _playing, _until he was happy enough to dance into a lake or drive himself off a cliff. Then _it_ would return to Edelweiss, ready to eat everything in sight and drink in all the praise it received like it was drowning in pleasure.

Roderich pulled his hand from his chest and ran. He thought of what his father would say about this, and then smartly told the creature:

"You are a horrid freak of the earth, and your powers are a disease upon mankind! You will leave _now!" _

"I'm sorry! I want to play! Please?"

Roderich's eyes widened. He felt claws, _claws, _digging into his chest. The creature had come from behind. It threw itself upon him, clasping its arms around his stomach and bringing both of them to the ground. Roderich's head hit the cobblestone. Pain throbbed in his temples. He tried to breathe, but the creature's arms were constricting tightly around his middle. With one hand, it reached up and squeezed his nose, digging its claws into his face in the process.

"G-get off me, fiend!"

"Friend!" The creature whined. "Please play, friend!"

Even if he wanted to stay and play, the creature would not cease its iron grip about him. It was convinced he would run if it let go, and so the two of them remained at a painful impasse. Roderich could feel tears bubbling up. His chest throbbed, and his head pulsed, and he was sure his nose was bleeding.

"Get _off _him!"

All the pressure released. Roderich looked up and saw the domineering shape of his father above him. Curiously enough, he brandished a fire poker as his weapon. He poked it in the direction of the creature, which was now hunched over near the hedges and wailing with a voice that was too ghastly and unearthly to be human. Its shrieking whipped up a powerful squall that tore all the leaves from the garden's trees and ripped bricks right out of the mansion's foundation.

Ulrich poked the poker in its direction, and the clouds grew darker.

"Get inside, boy," he said. Roderich scampered up and flew to the door to be comforted by his mother.

"Show yourself, _imp." _

The creature convulsed, screeched, and then shrank back to its pitiful, pale true form.

_"__Silence." _

* * *

It was the worst sort of summer day. The rain had come as a light drizzle before swelling into heavy gray sheets that pounded at the garden and swept the trees back and forth at the roots. Many patches of flowers had been flooded and ruined. Soaked petals floated away down the sopping, grassy passes. The black, moonless sky spread out like ink over the heavens, with the tiny pinpricks of starlight concealed by the sodden vestiges of storm clouds.

In the friendly glow of candlelight, Roderich Edelstein was tucked into bed. His sister read him a story — a lighthearted, wholesome one at the insistence of his mother. Those nasty cautionary tales would only frighten him, and with his elevated place in society, teaching him morals would only be redundant. Then Gigi came to sing him a lullaby so sweet and lilting that he was met with visions of creamy cakes before he was even asleep. His mother kissed him goodnight, giving him one last message of reassurance, and all was well in Gutshaus Edelweiss.

For the creature, it was quite another story.

A few hours after Roderich's whimsically idyllic bedtime routine, he roused from his hazy half-sleep and found himself contained in a scratchy fabric that smothered his pointed nose and made his skin furiously itch. He thrashed about, crooning and screeching, until he found a place to catch his claw-like nails and tear himself from the trap.

When he had fully squeezed out of the sack, he was soaked in the darkest night he had ever seen. The mud squelched under his feet, and the air was a loose void that let the cold permeate into every part of nature. He looked up and was met with the sight of iron arrowheads — five of them — all pointed directly at his chest. For a split second, the metal flashed orange in some unseen light of horror.

_Danger! Run! Scream! Transform and hide!_

The creature wailed into the night. The more his voice poured out into the darkness, the more he could feel a tug in his throat that sent a tingling creeping through his skin and a wave of heated nausea rolling through his stomach. He could hear the gale swirling around and obeying every voiced command. The more he screamed, the more wind spun into existence, and the safer he felt.

He then tried to run from the archers, but he could go no further than a pentagon of salt poured at the center of a star within a circle. His shriveled hands pressed up against an invisible barrier that kept him trapped in the cold, wet little patch of earth.

"Shoot it!" He heard someone cry again and again. "Shoot it! Shoot it!"

This was the end. He had known so little of life, having been born painfully and fearfully from a shadow only a fortnight before. Consumed by despair, the little creature lay down and curled into a ball, his pillowcase tunic proving his only comfort as he waited for his fate.

But then he tensed, for in his overwhelming terror, he heard another sound streaming through the darkness like an amiable beam of light. The sound was flighty and peppy. It changed its pitch smoothly as it danced along the wind. The creature's ears perked up. He lifted his tearful face to look out upon the darkness. Was that? Yes, a dark silhouette was growing larger and larger. A new figure was coming to meet with the party, and the beautiful, magical music was coming from a long wooden flute it played as it walked.

The newcomer looked human when it finally approached, but only its wrinkled hands and long, tangled silvery-gray hair could be seen hanging out of its hooded robe. It took the flute from its lips and exchanged a few words with the archers. The creature listened intently. He had been learning new words every day since he had been born. He couldn't understand everything being said. Something about… _execution. _An execution? _Execution_ was clearly a word that meant a place of great and terrible fear.

The creature whimpered a bit. If only he could understand! Why must he be subjected to such fear and danger? Was this a tradition of these _humans? _And why didn't he look like the humans? Why were his ears so large and his teeth so sharp? Why did he have to change himself so they weren't afraid, and why was that boy still afraid even after he'd changed?

The stranger was playing the flute again. This song… this one was sad. The creature could feel it weighing down his heart and pressing him into the earth. All at once, he became so filled with sorrow that he didn't notice the archers shaking and shrieking before they dropped to the ground, still and silent.

The flute-player then knelt down. It swished the salt away with its flute, then lifted its hood. Beneath had been hidden the stretched, sunken face of a man. Two great, knifelike ears perched at the sides of his head. Midnight blue eyes as deep as the universe blinked, and a fanged smile beckoned. He was no doubt the same kind of creature!

"Come on, little one. I won't hurt you. Come here."

The little creature was doubly frightened, but also a bit intrigued. Cautiously, he crawled over and scrutinized the friendly face above. The creature-man then scooped him up in his arms and held him close.

"Fates in hell, you're just a _baby._ And they think we're heartless."

The creature struggled. No, not this again! He couldn't let himself be restrained, or he would be forced into another _execution! _

Or…

The large one was humming softly and petting the little one's hair. Slowly, the little one relaxed, and a warm, tingly, _wonderful _feeling filled his chest. He reached up and tugged on the big ears to compare them with his own. Ah, there was a word for this! He knew it! A large, strong one who… _protected,_ yes, protected a little one!

_Papa. _

"You… papa?"

His savior frowned. "No, I'm not your papa. I'm your friend. What do you call yourself? Do you have a name?"

"No. No name."

"You can't go through life without a grand name for yourself. My name is Friedrich, but since you are my friend, you may call me Fritz."

"Fritz? And you do not… hurt?"

"No, I would never hurt you. But I'm interested. Why did you target the Edelsteins of all people? Were you born around here, or were you just too hungry to find a _safer_ family? Sure, that little Roderich is a sniveling prick, and I'm sure you'd blend in just fine, but with his father around…"

The little one couldn't understand.

"Why did you make yourself look like that little boy, and why did you attack him?"

In one great rush of emotion, and with a mess of broken language, the little one explained. A friend! He wanted a friend to play with! He was ever so… _lonely! _And the boy was afraid, and so he changed so he would look more like a human, but the big humans came after him with that scary magic metal. But he never meant to attack the boy! Only stop him from running!

Fritz heaved a sigh of disapproval. "With no level of audacity can you waltz up to a child in your true form and ask him to play with you. _Transforming _in front of him is even worse a move — especially if the kid's family is rich. I'd better take you home with me. You obviously don't know enough yet to survive on your own. If the shadows hadn't told me about you, you'd have been a shadow yourself by now."

The little creature dug his claws into Fritz's shoulders, tears welling up in his blood-colored eyes. Fritz lay a comforting hand over his back. He drank in every drop of that warm feeling pooling in his chest and filling him up with comfort. There… there wasn't a word he knew for this, but his instincts flared to life when he felt it. He was alive to know this feeling. It was his nature to seek it out and know it as well as he knew himself.

_Love. _

"Peace, peace, little one. You're safe now. Let's see… you're going to need a name. One that is respectable, yet lets your enemies know you are not one to be trifled with. This night scars you. You'll be a man hunched by his past, but bearing the name of a warrior. And so I shall call you… er…"

His bulging blue eyes wandered aimlessly until they settled on the name of a cobbler etched into the soles of the insensible archers.

"Gilbert."

"Gilbert?"

"Gilbert with eyes that sparkle like rubies."

Gilbert cooed. He liked that name. It was shining and promising, and he would own it and keep it close to his heart.

"Quiet yourself, Gilbert. The moonless night is the darkest."

Fritz stuffed his flute in the pocket of his black and blue robe and set off toward the bottom of the hill. Gilbert squirmed in his arms. From his perch, he watched the archers and their arrows grow smaller and smaller. He'd never seen their faces, and he was content to let his ignorance slowly erase their image in his mind and ease the thundering fright in his heart.

Yet the snarled circle of salt drawn sickeningly upon the earth would never leave him.

* * *

**~N~**

**Welcome to Fataverse! If you're here from Hetafata, be prepared to see the creature and the rich kid in an all new light. If you're not here from Hetafata, this story runs independent! You can totally read these one-shots and understand what's going on, though it could potentially spoil Hetafata if you intend to read it in the future. **

**This series is meant to challenge me as a writer. Darker themes and romantic plots aren't really my thing, but here's an opportunity to practice them, as well as flesh out the world set up in Hetafata even more.**

**Note: Some episodes are rated M. These will be marked below the episode summary. **

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net July 22nd, 2019. Do NoT StEaL. Reposters will be toast. Reviewers will get toast. **


	2. 1:2 Variations on a Theme

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**2\. Variations on a Theme**

**Two tales are told of a boy who grows much too quickly for his own good.**

* * *

In the northwest woodlands, there was a tower. Piyo Tower was its name. Lonely and decrepit, it had stood for decades upon centuries while the surrounding trees strained to match its height. Its misshapen gray stones were all weathered and clinging with wisteria, and the proud iron protecting the door had long been removed. It could almost slouch in sadness amidst the luxuriant greenery.

And yet it was a home.

It was August, and the reedy buzz of cicadas accompanied the waves of hot wind scorching the woodlands. Piyo Tower was miserable. Sheets had been pinned over every window to keep the sun out, but the air within was still stagnant and sweltering. On the first floor, just past the bookshelves, lay a poor creature who had removed his shirt so as not to suffer from the heat.

Shape-wise, he appeared as a human child — two arms and two legs and a beakish sort of nose. But such a devil was far from the image of a mother's healthy little boy. His feathery hair was white as snow. His ears were long and sharp as daggers, and his eyes were the color of blood. His frame was contoured starkly by the bones jutting through pale, paper-thin skin. His ribcage quivered visibly as he breathed.

Lying on his back, he stretched scrawny arms as far as they would reach and groaned in discomfort. Yesterday, when he'd lain in this very spot, his fingertips just barely reached the baseboard. Now his knuckles were crumpled up against it. He weakly turned his head to look at them. Snaking stripes of discoloration marked where the skin had stretched. He twitched his fingers, and a burning ache pushed through every nerve.

He wanted to cry. His insides were taut with hunger, yet he couldn't move an inch without reviving the constant agony that strained his bones and tired his flesh. The hot, pulsing, tingling force of magic flowing through him had only intensified over the past few weeks. Such an untamable force was not fit to dwell in the body of a sickly little child. Its presence could only exacerbate his frailty, and when he did eat enough to satisfy it, at least for a little while, it used the energy to make its vessel more habitable.

Which was why the wretched boy would not stop growing.

He closed his eyes and flicked his tongue over his upper teeth. Two needle-sharp fangs framed a row of pointed incisors that were already thick enough to squeeze each other into a mangled mess. His lips were scabbed from too many accidental bites, and the insides of his cheeks were torn and warped with scars.

His ears flicked at a familiar sound. The door to Piyo Tower opened, then slammed shut.

"Bird shit everywhere again."

That voice marked the presence of his only hope — another creature just like him, yet with a hardened heart and a wavering compassion. He shrieked, hoping the arrival would notice. He was always hungering for attention just as he hungered for food.

"Gilbert, what are you doing on the floor?"

Gilbert groaned. A jolt of pain arced down his spine.

"Speak, boy! You're not a baby anymore!"

"Then I don't know what I am!" Gilbert spat. He instantly regretted it. His voice had changed again. The rasp hadn't left, but the pitch was lower and huskier than it had been yesterday. A shiver seeped through his tightened skin. If he kept changing at this rate, what would he become? Old and wrinkled and scowling like Fritz?

Fritz's familiar face slid into view. His bulging blue eyes were cross, and his dagger-like ears were pulled down in disgust. "You are a fairy of darkness. A changeling. You were brought into the world by a cursed shadow, and you will remain until your body grows too feeble to contain the power inside you."

Gilbert just whimpered.

"What? What does that mean?"

"I feel like shit."

"Of course you do. You're growing as quickly as a caterpillar, though without the charm of shedding your skin."

"You said it would slow down after a while!"

"That's normally what happens, but you're special, it seems. At the most, you should look like a five-year-old human, but you've doubled that age in only a week. What do you say about your cognitive development? How does your head feel?"

"Like shit! I have constant headaches! Every day, I wake up thinking differently! My memories keep lapsing, like I should have years of them instead of mere weeks. L-like right now, I don't even know how I'm doing this! What happened to my stutter? Why are my words coming so easily? I barely studied the books you showed me for a day, and I can read them!"

"You're telling me you understand advanced philosophy."

"Yeah, I can understand the shit some old human wrote about the nature of existence, but I don't know how I exist! Am I still a baby or an adult? I feel so young, but also very old."

"You could be the reincarnation of a quite ancient fairy."

"Does that explain why I can talk to birds?"

"Gilbert, I'll have no more of that nonsense. You can't possibly communicate with nature so easily."

Gilbert trembled when he replied. "I c-can! It's not like they say anything back, b-but they do what I say! Yesterday, I told them I felt shitty and hot, and they pinned those sheets over the windows and brought me some berries and breadcrumbs! Why? Why do they respect me? Why do I know so many things I don't even remember learning!? I feel like I should know myself, but I just don't!"

Fritz had fetched a wet cloth, which he pressed on Gilbert's forehead. The young one hissed, then grabbed the cloth in his claws and squeezed every drop of moisture into his mouth. With a savage roar, he rolled over and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. His breath hitched, and his red eyes went wild with an uncertain madness. His elbows wiggled from his weight. Pain shot up every pathway to combust in his brain. He screeched and swore, then collapsed again, sobbing loudly enough to reveal the infantile nature beneath his aged features.

"Quiet, Gilbert. You're throwing a fit again."

"Tell me who I am! Save me!"

"Quiet, or I won't let you live here either! You were enough of a nuisance at my house! I know you can't control your emotions, but curses, Gilbert, pull yourself together! The world isn't always going to save you or provide a comforting hand when you want it. I'll tell you who you are. You are a fairy of darkness. The world despises you, and you might as well build up your resistance to pain while you're still young."

Gilbert growled, digging his claws into the floorboards and glaring at his mentor. "I want love."

"If you want it, you have to work for it. The least you can do is thank me for rescuing you. That's a rare occurrence on its own. The shadows haven't spoken to me in years. They left me when I denied my fairy nature and took a life for the first time. Something about you must be important enough to bring spirits out of a grudge. I've tried to teach you how to use your powers, and I can teach you, but you have to work through the pain, or you'll never survive. You have to let yourself grow and mature, however quickly, and you have to master transformation."

"But it hurts to transform!"

"Your magic is still stabilizing, and your body is unused to strain. If you continually practiced, you could make changing shape absolutely painless."

"There's no reason to change my shape."

"If you're too stubborn to swap with a human child, you can at least find yourself a decent disguise. You've tasted enough love to crave it, Gilbert. Form bonds with others, and you'll thrive. Deprive yourself, and you'll die of a broken heart."

"But I shouldn't have to look human to make friends! They didn't accept me when I became human the first time, so they shouldn't deserve any beautiful charade I can play. If others are going to love me, they should see me as I am — a freakish imp!"

"You will not say that word! It is an insult to our kind."

"Why is it an insult!? It describes an ugly creature, which I am!"

"So you'd rather have been born a plump little human boy? With doting parents and toy soldiers and creamy cakes and combed hair and shiny shoes and the notion in your brain that magic is strange and ugly creatures should be shot with iron?"

Darkness boiled in Gilbert's eyes. He hunched low to the floor, then drew in his breath and let out a blood-curdling wail of conflict. The hot winds ripped past the tower, whistling in the nooks between stones and abusing the windows until they cracked. The little creature cried out for minutes on end before he slumped tiredly onto his stomach and hid his face behind trembling fingers.

"Pride denies admiration," Fritz muttered. "You know, Gilbert, there was a time when humans held no power over us, and we were the most beautiful beings in the world. I know I've told you the story before, but you never listen."

A faint pittering of rain sounded around the tower. Sniveling, Gilbert lifted his hands, ears twitching curiously.

"I didn't come all the way out here to watch you cry and beat your fists like a child. Up on your feet, now. I'll let you play the flute again. Let's see if you can make even a shred of progress controlling that power."

At once, Gilbert strained every aching muscle to lift himself to his feet. He'd come to appreciate little over the course of his painful existence, but playing the flute he loved even more than hot potatoes with sharp, melted cheese. The instrument fit in his shriveled hands like it was made for him, and when he blew across it and heard its dulcet air, he could feel the erratic pulsing of magic within him calming and straightening itself. Gilbert had the 'Gift of Music,' as Fritz had once said, for whenever he screamed or beat his fists or played the flute, his true power awakened, and magic was afoot.

Fritz presented Gilbert with a gift — a dozen rolls and two black currant cakes and a bottle of cream which he greedily shoveled down in less than a minute — and then he unpacked the mahogany flute for his charge. Gilbert forgot about his pain at once. His eyes sparkled with stardust, and he reached for the instrument with childlike excitement. Fritz tried to keep him from taking it, but the changeling boy just snatched the flute out of his mentor's hands and, with a mischievous grin, scampered over to the rug in front of the couch.

He brought it to his lips and blew a melody as mellifluous and lively as the kiss of rain on dry, dusty stones. His thin fingers sparked with pain as they moved, but he was intrigued by their new dexterity. At this length, they could reach to cover every hole and key. They danced with alarming grace and pretense. A warm, itchy tingle blossomed from a place in his throat, and at once, he remembered how to anchor the storm of his feelings by weaving them into the dance.

Fritz looked around, surprised. Usually when he gave Gilbert the flute, the boy's power would explode from him, knocking over furniture and tearing dishes from their shelves. This time, the only magical chaos he could note was a flurry of feathers ripping themselves from the couch cushions. It seemed Gilbert was stronger now. He may not have understood his magic, but he had learned from his past mistakes, and his subconscious was feeding him ways to better control himself.

He was growing. Thank that hellish spirit Fate.

"You must reach within yourself. Don't think of your music and your magic as separate. Your true power will come when they are one. Ease into it, now. Find the pulse inside you, and let it guide your breath. Casting is not so much playing a certain melody for a certain spell, but rather having passion in your heart when you play and your true convictions right at hand."

Gilbert cringed. Being a music caster was sappier than he would have liked. He'd once asked Fritz if he could simply say what he wanted to change around him instead of "feeling it in his heart" and "playing his soul's true song," but Fritz replied only masters of their power were able to alter their surroundings with spoken words, and Gilbert was still learning.

(He also suspected Gilbert's raspy voice would only wreak nastiness.)

Gilbert cleared his mind and evened his breathing, slowing his fingers into a mellow ostinato to reflect his foul feelings. His song grew steady. It took on a somber edge that swelled into a sonata of sorrow. He dipped his head and strengthened his grip on the instrument. His throat tugged, and the warm, pleasurable energy sank down to pool in his chest. Gilbert embraced the sensations, letting them permeate through his muscles and flow through his bones. The pulsing of music came from within, and the melody blew past his lips in the shape of an abstract spell.

Music and magic are one, he reminded himself.

Lost in a trance, Gilbert knew only what he felt and heard only his musical creation. He never noticed the fervor of the wind and rain outside. The trees were dashed by the storm, and the earth was swept up into a violent, swirling cyclone that walled off the tower from the rest of the forest.

"No wonder you say the birds understand you. You have a gift for controlling the air," Fritz mused.

He eyed his charge. Yes, Gilbert was maturing rapidly. His mind was made to adapt to new challenges. Changelings had adapted for centuries, taking on new shapes and new personalities in order to satisfy their endless quest for happiness.

Which reminded him…

"Gilbert, I want you to listen to the story and play what it makes you feel. Try to connect with it."

Fritz saw the flash of a fang as Gilbert growled, but he sent his own piercing glare back, and the boy continued playing.

"Long, long ago, when cities were just villages, and empires just notions, all the fair folk lived together in a nameless realm somewhere in central Europe. It was a magical time. Berry wine never ran dry, and the people of the realm dressed themselves in garments of spider silk and danced under the moonlight until the first drops of sun ran down the hillsides. The people were one with nature, and all of nature spoke to them — animals, plants, and spirits of the wood and water."

Gilbert's song lilted and swayed in the meter of a long-forgotten dance. He visualized the ancient forest — green and lush, with no dusty trails or excess noise. He could only hear birdsong. Lost in thought, he scratched at his neck, where the looks of an inky splotch were beginning to swell and spread over his skin.

"There were three tribes of the ancient Fae people: the winged Fae of Light, gifted with music; The long-eared Fae of Darkness, gifted with illusions; and the prideful Fae of All Magic, gifted with many powers over nature.

"While the fair folk lived in peace for many happy eras, the humans were also gaining strength in their own lands and kingdoms. They feared magic, for they thought it strange and blasphemous. No creature should be as clever as the Fae of All Magic, nor as good-hearted as the Fae of Light, nor as beautiful as the Fae of Darkness, they said. And so they planned to rise up against the fair folk and covet their gifts for themselves.

"At once, the King of Light, the Queen of Darkness, and the Elderking met at the center of the realm to discuss this matter.

"'Let us join the humans," said the Elderking. "Let us become as they are — strong conquerors who use weapons of iron and carve their own destinies. Let us go beyond what we have known and leave the forest in the past. The humans have more knowledge than we can ever hope to achieve here. We will not let them conquer us, but become an allied nation that shares their culture.'

"'We cannot be just like them," said the King of Light. "Let us trade with the humans in knowledge and power. Let us learn their culture and teach them ours. We will come to understand one another so we can all coexist knowing each other's heritage and history.'

"'Let us not deny our nature in any fashion," said the Queen of Darkness. "To associate ourselves with the humans is to fill our minds with their savagery. We were born of wood and stone, not iron and blood. We should not become what we are not. Let us keep away from them, concealing our world in the forest, and we will all remain at peace.'"

Gilbert's notes went sharp when the Queen was mentioned. He swayed and heaved from the wild strands of power he wove. The tempest outside concentrated. The swirling winds grew taller, stretching above Piyo Tower to reach up and meet with the inky clouds.

Inky… like the soft little quills sprouting in patches from Gilbert's skin.

His whole body was struck with the strange, writhing itch from within. Claw-like nails dug into the persistent irritation. The tip of his nose had taken on a strange, silvery sheen, and his red eyes were sparkling. His bones began to creak and grind. He was in too deep a trance to realize he was beginning to transform, and into something he'd most likely never seen before. It was a rare talent to change into an image only the imagination could provide. But the music and the story seemed to be helping him along, and so Fritz continued.

"The stubborn Queen of Darkness remained, but the Elderking and the King of Light went to speak with the humans. When they returned, they spoke of what transpired.

"'The humans adore us," said the King of Light. 'Our music enchants them, and our spirits touch their hearts.'

"'Alas, they do not adore us," said the Elderking. 'We are full of light, but we are also full of darkness. They mistrust us.'

"'Then you admit you were unwise in trusting they could be allies,' the Queen of Darkness bit.

"'Not so. We Fae of All Magic must simply deny our darkness, and they will accept our light.'

"'Doing so would upset the Balance,' said she.

"'But it is necessary, or we shall never progress as they do. Before long, they shall have powers that mold and shape the earth to their whims better than our magic could ever achieve.'

"The Elderking and the Queen of Darkness argued for a great while, but neither gained the upper hand. So in the darkest night, he invited her to his realm under the Mound and tainted her wine with a potion brewed of his blood. When she drank it, he fell to the floor, writhing and screaming as his dark power was drained from his body. She, too, fell, and cried out as her body was filled even further with darkness. Her dewy skin shriveled and wrinkled, and her pearly teeth sharpened and yellowed, and her gemstone eyes darkened and hollowed.

"'I am now more light than darkness, and you doubly dark,' said the Elderking. 'From now on, you and your people shall only be born of shadows. Iron shall burn you, and our berry wine poison you. No one will love your ugliness, and if you want your ineffable beauty, you will not cast an illusion upon yourself, but transform and become what you are not.'"

Gilbert fell upon his knees, tears streaming from closed eyes. His music was a soft, contemplative sadness, not swollen with sorrow, but deeply disturbed and upset. He held one wavering note as if he would die with his breath. This was what he was. A cursed being who only had notions of peace. Confined to the shadows as a distorted shell of the grace and beauty he once possessed. A forgotten creature. The quills — now feathers — crept along his arms. His shoulders gave a great crack as they narrowed and shifted. His bones were bubbling and thinning. His nose stretched, and his lips hardened. The skin of his feet swelled and toughened into golden scales.

"The fair folk set out to become like humans. The Fae of Light journeyed to the northern and southern peninsulas, and the Fae of All Magic to the many islands apart from the continent. They built great cities and strong armies. They clothed themselves with cloth and wrote on paper. Treaties were made and signed. Progress went forward. And the forest, in time, became only a legend.

"But the Fae of Darkness still existed. Starving for love, and unable to bear children of their own, they exchanged sickly children of the shadows for those from the glittering cities. Both fairy and human they took. All because no one would love their ugliness. And so the humans blamed the fairies, the fairies blamed the humans, and war raged for countless years. The Queen of Darkness became Fata, Fate, the spirit who sees no good and punishes all with pain. In the end, she stole the two kings' powers for herself, killing both of them."

"When she fell, even the darkness lost hope. The children of the shadows were driven mad by their peaceful hearts breaking. Still, we can do nothing. The Balance of nature has been thrown off too far. No longer do the winged Fae of Light bear the Gift of Music. No longer do the Fae of All Magic have every power over nature. No longer does nature choose to speak to fairies unless it absolutely trusts them. And look at us… some dark fairies have musical powers!"

The flute rolled across the floor. Fritz turned and was startled to see Gilbert had dropped it. He was quivering and shrinking, the inky feathers finishing the task of swallowing up his pale skin. He gripped the wooden floor with wicked talons and flapped his great wings to balance. A look of fear and hurt sparked in his eyes, but he kept silent as his transformation unfolded.

Soon enough, he had changed into a black eagle with eyes like rubies.

Fritz smiled curiously. "The birds know you're their protector."

Gilbert shuffled his wings in sudden fright. He twitched his tail feathers and lifted his scaly feet to inspect them. His feathers were glossy and even. His beak silver-hooked and sharp. He'd been growing and changing so much, but this was utterly bizarre!

Fritz knelt down and locked his eyes with the frightened raptor. "Did that kill you?"

The eagle squeaked, then awkwardly swung his head from side to side.

"Good. You're growing stronger."

* * *

Somewhere in the southern part of the testy conglomerate was an estate. Gutshaus Edelweiss was its name. Grandiose and gratuitous, it had stood for only a few generations and was always well-maintained. Its gray stone exterior lent the image of a demure castle — not rich enough to trade shingles for turrets, yet still bearing the picturesque arched windows and pointed chimneys of fantasy. Its front steps bore lantern poles. Its front hedges were always trimmed into neat cubic forms. And when summer proclaimed its wickedly humid benediction, one could always know the aesthetics of autumn would soon frame the place nicely.

It was during that sweltering time. Within Edelweiss was a child called Roderich Edelstein. He was quite small for his age, and of a rather pasty complexion. His rich brunet hair was swept back and tucked behind his left ear. He was not the typical image of a rough-and-tumble little boy, but a dignified sort — taciturn and instructed harshly in civilities.

He was in the family tea room — a quaint place with many hand-embroidered cushions and porcelain figures and a protruding window that looked out upon the garden. He was wearing his favorite shiny shoes, and set before him was a currant cake made with vanilla pudding and meringue. He swung his feet under the table and daintily dabbed his chin with his napkin.

Across from him sat a truly fantastic young man. He was a light and lean sort, with the limbs of a dancer and curiously peaked ears. His smile was as warm as his heart, and the bronze wings on his back caught sunlight as if they were made of silken gemstones. Said wings were folded nicely down behind him, as he was sitting sideways on his chair.

"You mix the bitter with the sweet," he remarked.

"But the cake is mostly sweet," the boy replied, spooning himself some jam. "I only like sweet things, but this is the time of year for currants, so mama wants them used in everything."

"I like your mama."

"Papa says she is querulous."

"So is my mamma. All mammas are querulous in Allegria."

"Is yours pretty like mine?"

A cheeky smirk brought up the corners of the fairy's lips. "I have to think my mamma is prettier than yours. She has wings, after all."

"Can fairies really grant wishes and give children magical gifts?"

Here the fairy's lips drew into a tight line. He feared to think what could've provoked this question. Lord Ulrich, the boy's father, was unusually shrewd when it came to magic, and this was more than the intrinsic wariness his human mind provided. Had he put his son up to this? Asking if it were really possible to imbue a child with supernatural talents? Or was this a timid request for a magical performance? What could the boy want with a wish, and how would the fairy look to granting it without somehow alerting Lord Ulrich to the use of magic on his son?

"Is it true, Gigi?"

Gigi snapped out of his spinning thoughts and lay his cheek in his hand. "Why do you ask that question?"

"It's not that I would wish for anything. I just want to know if you can grant wishes and give blessings."

"I don't know. I've never done it before. Some women used to travel up from the Allegrian peninsula to grant wishes for humans, but that trade ended some fifty years ago. Being a fairy godmother was tough work. The demand for more ridiculous wishes probably stressed the poor ladies too much, so they stopped offering their services."

"Still, do you think you could do it if you wanted?"

"Maybe! Although, depending on the wish, it could take a lot out of me. Magic is weaker than it was fifty years ago. My papà is the most powerful fairy I know, and he's raising me to follow in his footsteps, but…"

"But what?"

"But he and I are the only winged fairies to inherit the Gift in the last hundred years. No one besides us can cast spells with music anymore. We used to be able to do everything with a simple melody. Now everyone has to learn magic the other way — by feeling and twisting their power without a tune to guide them."

"Is there a lot of pressure being the only ones?"

Gigi rubbed his forehead, his squat button nose wrinkling in a squeamish fashion. "Yeah. Too much. Even if you were grown-up, you wouldn't believe how many people expect me to… eh… share my knowledge with the next generation…"

"But if you're the only one who can sing your spells—"

"I mean they want me to get married and… see if I can pass on my powers."

"Isn't that good?"

"No, well, yeah, but it's embarrassing. I'm not even out of school yet, and I want to marry for love, and it's not like I'm not going to love my kids if they don't inherit the Gift, and hey, why don't we just finish up here so we can go practice together? How is the etude coming?"

"Well, but the rhythms confuse me."

Here Roderich's lips twitched downward, and his brows furrowed in the slightest bit of disappointment. Gigi's thoughts became scrambled again. There was a reason for the boy's persistence with the questions. What could he say or do? Kristine's words kept ringing in his mind. Did Roderich see him as a father figure? And if so, how could he stop seeming so wise and understanding? No, no, that was a good thing, but he wasn't the boy's father. He didn't know how to care for human children, and in another few weeks, he'd be leaving for his last year of school, leaving Roderich to his own devices…

"Eh… Roddy?"

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

The fairy let his glittering gaze seep into the crystal-blue innocence, and Roderich dipped his head. Yes, now he was letting it out. The boy was shrouded in a heavy clot of negative emotions. They appeared to Gigi as a glossy, transparent cloud that hummed with forlorn frequencies. There were anger and loneliness, as he expected, but the darkest, most pervasive of these feelings was a profound sense of fear.

"Why are you afraid?"

The boy jumped. "How do you know?"

"Magic empathy. I can sense how living things are feeling around me. Your fear is singing. It's very shrill."

"I…"

"I won't judge you. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm afraid of many things," Roderich whispered. "I'm afraid that I will play a wrong note during the recital, and that my father won't see you as useful anymore and send you away. I'm afraid that I will never want to go into business like he wants me to. I'm afraid that I'm an imperfect son—"

"Roddy—"

"I'm afraid of the shadow-creatures! I keep dreaming that I'm led away into the forest and trapped there, and when I look at my reflection in the pond, I see mama kissing my forehead like she always does, only she isn't kissing me. She's kissing something hideous and foul."

The cake spoon tumbled out of Gigi's hand. Right away, he leapt up from his sideways-seated position and came around to take Roderich by the hand, a solemn rage blazing in his features. How had he not noticed this terrible fear brewing in his charge's heart? These were not normal fears, by any means. These had been planted in soil of uncertainty and watered with worries. There was no doubt by this time that the boy was an unknowing prodigy, and his ability to analyze and draw conclusions was doing more harm than good.

Briskly, Gigi led him past the grand staircase of Edelweiss to the studio — a sweltering, stuffy room that housed the old harpsichord the boy had come to love. Here the oily yellow wallpaper peeled and warped. The carpet muffled a great deal of sound and hindered the stability of a lonely music stand that was, at this moment, banished to the corner. Roderich hesitantly proceeded to unlock his clarinet case to practice his etude, but Gigi merely shook his head at the action.

The fairy leaned into the back corner and his face behind trembling fingers. He was hardly an adult — not even a graduate — and this human child put enough faith and trust in him to enlighten him on such horrid fears. He pursed his lips and stared at the carpet. There was no wisdom he could share for comfort. He would use all his musical powers to sing the boy into solace — even try to sing him a wish, if he could — but he feared it would anger Lord Ulrich, who saw any form of magic as suspect.

He saw a blur in the corner of his vision and saw Roderich was sitting at the harpsichord, looking at him with great expectation. His face was emotionless and pale… as usual.

Smile. Just smile.

The words cut up the back of his throat, but his jaw was clamped shut. How could he tell this boy to smile when he was afraid of so much?

"What do you want me to do?" Roderich asked. "Is this… I apologize for telling you all of that. It wasn't very dignified of me."

"No! No, Roddy, I want you to tell me things like that! If you suppress your fears, it's hard for me to sense them, and I don't know how you're feeling!"

"That is the point. Why would anyone need to know? Thinking about it just makes my chest hurt, anyway."

Gigi shivered. He swallowed thickly and strained to pull one useful string of words from the static of his shouting, scurrying thoughts.

"I respect that you want to please your father, and I know he thinks I'm silly when I talk like this, but you're just a kid. You shouldn't be so afraid, and if you are, you shouldn't keep it in. It makes you bitter, and I don't want you to be bitter. Take your time growing up! Don't spend it imagining your mother kissing evil creatures. You know we all want to protect you. You know my magic is strong, and my light could dissolve darkness, no trouble! Please, just learn to let your heart out when you need to."

Roderich stared, and for a moment, his eyes crinkled with a mite of long-neglected pain, but he could only reply with more icy daggers.

"I can't do magic like you, Gigi. I can't just know what my heart feels and manipulate my emotions however I want. Humans aren't abstract like that."

"It's not abstract! And I don't manipulate my emotions however I want. I learn to work through them." Gigi stood trembling for a few seconds before the obvious smacked him right between his starry eyes. "What do I tell you every time we come in this room together? I say, 'Music is your heart's voice.' Why don't you ever listen to me!?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Then I'll teach you to understand. I'll give you the power to speak with your heart. It's not magic, Roddy. Anyone can do it. If you're ever feeling stressed or scared, you can pour your feelings into your passion. Now, just… play what you're feeling."

"You want me to improvise?"

"Yeah, or just pick a song from the books you like. Play something. It's time you actually performed with your emotions in mind. Stuffing them down isn't good, and if thinking about them makes your chest hurt, you need to relax."

"Will you sing with me? Maybe if I can hear your magic—"

Gigi's expression darkened. "I'm flattered, but no. Not this time. Now play. Play anything you want."

Roderich turned to the keys. He lightly pressed the shapes of a few progressive chords, then ran himself through a prelude that was rather melancholic in nature. Was this what Gigi meant? Playing a sad song when he was sad? He looked to his tutor in question when he finished.

"You're doing the same thing as last time," the fairy cut. "You're too stiff. You're playing what's on the page, not what's inside you."

"But I'm feeling sad while I play it."

"Don't just feel. You carry the song so that others may feel it, and I'm not feeling anything from that."

"If you would just explain—"

"What is there to explain? All music has a purpose. Find the purpose that puts a light in your heart, and play the shape of your own spell."

Roderich scowled, but this argument always happened in some shape or form during his lessons.

"I'll tell you when I'm feeling something," Gigi reassured him.

So Roderich took the faded yellow sheet music for a particularly miserable minor-key sonata and, huffing, placed it on the carved mantle of maple leaves before him. He wiggled his fingers, then drew in his breath and began.

The left hand dug into the chords that anchored the piece in place, and the right danced over the persistent rhythmic ostinato that trailed over several broken chords. The melody came out soft, yet foreboding. Roderich leaned into new measures with bits and pieces of his worry. He clawed the song into the keys note by note until he was deep into the second page.

He remembered his stiffness and shimmied his shoulders. To reach one high note, he had to scooch over on the bench, and he did this with the practiced grace of a gentleman who carried himself without a mite of nonsense.

"Now listen," he heard Gigi whisper.

Roderich listened. He'd learned this song ages ago, and he could play it to perfection. Each dynamic change was acknowledged, and every accidental was honored. Lazily, he plodded through a few measures before the interesting lilt picked up again. The notes were chasing each other. In his mind, they pursued one another in circles that never ended.

And then he felt them.

It was only a spark. He'd struck one accent too harshly. But he realized in simply imagining the menacing nature of the song, he'd opened himself up to it. This song was about fear. It was abstract, and yet, he understood it.

He felt his own fear rising into his consciousness. His shoulders bobbed along, and his fingers lightly touched the keys in a new pattern, diverging from everything written on the page. At once, he was playing an entirely new song built on the chords of the old one. His hands arched into the likeness of talons tapping each new pitch as it came.

He imagined the dreams. The red-eyed creature returned. In his mind it had grown and now cast a mighty shadow over him. It transformed itself into a thrush and chirped a sweet, poignant melody until he was entranced. It hopped and flew from branch to branch, twitching its tail feathers and he followed its wingbeats. Off in the distance, the sun was casting its waning hues onto the canvas of the sky.

He left the gardens on the orchard path, and from there, he was guided far up into the sylvan foothills — a mere prelude to the mountains beyond. The brambles cut his legs, and the cold night winds slashed at his hair and face. The moon was high up before he realized the bird had long gone, and he was trapped in a circle of trees whose snarled limbs wove together into a net. A tempest swirled and raged beyond the forest. Its whipping winds numbed his lungs and left him freezing and choking for air. He stumbled and cried out, but his voice was barely heard.

Then, pushing himself up from the dankness, he saw a pool completely undisturbed by the howl of fear. Earnestly, he crawled to its edge. The moon was liquid silver upon the pane of unwavering glass. But the surface rippled and spun. Roderich saw his father's harsh expression bearing down on him. He saw Gigi's wings flickering in the sun as he flew away, never to return.

He saw his mother bending down and caressing his hair. Her smile was much too painfully kind. She wore her most precious blue diamond necklace and rose-gold earrings. Roderich watched helplessly as she cupped his face in her manicured hands and pecked him on the forehead.

Then his reflection morphed and swelled. His limbs stretched thin and bony. His ears flattened and sharpened and lengthened into knives. His teeth grew into fangs. His hair lost all its luster and fell flat on his forehead.

His eyes turned red, and he laughed.

Trembling, Roderich lifted his hands from the harpsichord. The improvisation had barely been pleasing to the senses. He'd mashed angry chords together and swung his hands down scales without a musical purpose in mind. He just kept thinking of that creature and how angry it made him feel. There was no rhyme nor reason to his fury. He just thought of his mother thinking she held him safe and close when that imp held absolutely no right to her kisses…

"I expressed my utter disgust and anger," he stated plainly. His fingertips explored the chest of his shirt to feel where his heart was fluttering beneath the skin.

Gigi's arms were crossed over his chest. His wings twitched behind him, and his lips were drawn into a tight line. With but a glance, Roderich's precocious nature deduced whatever he'd done had greatly disturbed his tutor.

Then the fairy nodded. "I felt that."

"It wasn't even a song."

"But it was a start. You get what I'm saying now, right?"

"I have to make the song sound like how I'm feeling so it's easy to tell?"

"Exactly. I'll admit, you were a little shaky coming out of it, but we've finally come to an understanding. It wasn't so bad, was it? Don't you feel better now?"

Roderich dipped his head again, but Gigi knew the truth. The boy had expressed his true feelings, and his dark cloud was abating.

"Will you sing with me now? I want to hear your magic."

Gigi huffed. There was no escape now. The boy was human, and humans were unfortunately ignorant of the world's wonders. Any magic Roderich got to see would certainly cheer him up, and seeing as he'd proven himself for the day…

"Your wish is granted, young master."

* * *

**~N~**

**Thoughts on changelings~**

**The fairytale part is all original, but the changelings in this world are based on real folklore from northern Europe, where faerie (or troll) children are said to be ugly, sickly, and unruly, so they are exchanged, (consensually or not,) with human children. Tales like these were used to explain why children had physical or behavioral problems. However, in the folktales, they usually grow slower than humans or not at all. Not so here, where they would probably explode if they didn't grow up super fast.**

**There are many ways you can tell if your child has been taken. Faeries are scared of iron and have aversions to table salt and certain berries. They're ravenous and can eat more than a human child without getting sick. They seem wise beyond their years, but they have a hard time controlling their emotions. Because they thrive on love, they can be terribly clingy.**

***Fata is both Latin for fate AND Italian for fairy! Wonder how that came about. ;D**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net August 7th, 2019. Reposters will be taken, and who knows what horrors shall befall them.**


	3. 1:3 The Shoe Thief

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**3\. The Shoe Thief**

**After a bout of silliness, a changeling boy discovers he is not so different from other children.**

* * *

A certain tension in all manner of things told Gilbert he should not be here.

Here the howling wind ceased its energy, and only a few chill squalls were allowed to tousle his hair and bring shivers upon his thin frame. The clouds hung heavy and low in the sky like matted padding. A few minutes before, the air had spoken to him, but he could not remember its message, and now all of nature regarded him with cool indifference.

His toes were chilled solid. For hours, he'd traipsed through dewy grass and over bits of gravel that dug into his soles. Now his feet were stretched out upon a slippery granite paver. It was one of many smooth platforms amidst a raging river of garden rock cleaving a pathway through the backyard. He considered jumping to the next one, but his feet ached. Summer's lazy departure only led to a flare of bickering between the seasons, and September was coming on with unpleasant temperatures.

Only a poor, pathetic creature could call this dwelling grand. It was smallish and squarish, with wilting bean rows and swollen squashes hugging the foundation. The windows clung with cobwebs, and the siding was splintered and pale from the sun. Ivy beleaguered the brick wall enclosing the space. A birdbath stood amidst untrimmed grasses, and wildflowers cropped up around a rock pile off to the side.

All in all, Gilbert looked quite out of place among these human oddities. He was dressed in clothes that were hemmed and taken in so much they wouldn't have fit a toddler. His thin fingers grasped pointlessly at his sides. He gnawed nervously at the crease of muscle where his lips folded until a bead of purple blood stained his tongue.

If anyone saw him here…

Ach, squash those fears. Gilbert was adventuring to escape his routine in the tower. Fritz said he was old enough to go his own way. It was his own stubbornness and fear that kept him sleeping in the perfumed bed and staring out those high, lonely windows day after day. He'd already indexed the stars. He'd already considered the true age of the forest and the edgy nature of chaos. He'd already explored the highest points of existence, where the doors to other dimensions were guarded by lazy saints caught in some bureaucratic travesty of faith.

Or was that all delusion?

Whatever he'd been doing, it was driving him mad. His memories wanted to stretch like pine sap into infinity, but his sheer callow _youth _stopped them up with blank spaces. He was trapped at a single point in time in a sickly body with an intelligence too exceptional for the earthly mind it guided.

Sometimes, he wished to tears he could understand the fun of pretending that sticks were swords.

Gilbert swallowed the lump in his throat. A bubbling blister on the meaty part of his thumb reminded him just how removed he was from the rest of the world. Beyond the ivied wall separating the backyard from the forest was a black rank of parallel iron trees. He'd accidentally touched one, and his skin had crinkled and burned like paper.

A harsh _click _ground him out of his deliberations. Blood-colored eyes focused on the back door, which was swinging out at an angle he could calculate in a hundredth of a second. In six point four-five seconds, he scampered over to hide behind the rock pile, and for a period of eleven point one-one seconds, he experienced an elevated release of stress hormones and a rapid acceleration of respiratory functions.

Gilbert listened as a husky feminine voice scolded a whiny youth for using "shoes" as "boats" in something called a "bathtub" before the door swung shut again and the world regained its composure. The little creature remained behind his pile of rocks for a full six minutes before he mustered the confidence to explore once more.

He picked himself up and eyed the gray expanse of the backyard. Innumerable details flooded his brain for analysis. A few more leaves had fallen. A snail had undulated two inches up the stalk of the birdbath. A friendly magpie was smirking down at him from her perch on the roof.

_"__Caw!" _

"Hello," Gilbert coughed in reply.

_Drip. Plip. _

Ah, this was new! Steering himself further in the daring direction of adventure, Gilbert drew himself close to the dangerous door and the unknown dimensions within. Just below the rectangular portal and its opening apparatus was a, no, a _pair, _of somethings. Each was a set of strips of brown leather stitched together at the sides to form a rounded prism with an opening at the top rear. A platform extended from the rear bottom of each, and a globular button was strapped in place — on opposing sides for each — just below the lip of the opening.

And Gilbert, when faced with these phantoms, with all the countless scientific and literary and philosophical minutiae crowding the mortal neurons of his mind, was suddenly stumped.

"What _are _these!?" He asked the magpie, his lips tensing in uncertain disgust and his brows furrowing tightly. When he picked one up, water poured out of the hole and splashed about the gravel. The spray hit Gilbert's nose, and he sneezed. "I feel like I should know…"

The magpie, who had flown down to alight next to him, pecked at a globular button and croaked in confusion.

Gilbert picked each of them up and weighed them. He slipped his hands in the holes and flapped them about like puppets. What had that altercation at the door concerned? Shoes, boats, bathtubs. Boats, bathtubs, shoes. Bathtubs, shoes, boats.

An electric surge connected the synapses, and like magic, he knew the answer to another one of life's profoundest mysteries.

"Wow! These are _shoes! _I've always wanted some of these! Why didn't I think of it before? Fritz wears them!"

The magpie cawed a question.

"Oh, they go on feet! Like, like this!"

Gilbert pulled them on and stood up. His toes squelched in the sodden leather, and the shoes flopped around outlandishly when he walked.

_Squish, flop, drip, plip. _

The little one produced a delighted, crooked-toothed smile. What was this impressive wizardry!? He could walk across the gravel, and the shoes protected his sensitive tootsies from the sharp edges and the cold! He could run laps around the backyard, and while too large for him, the inventions stayed on and followed his every movement!

"This is incredible! Look, birdie! I have _shoes! _Aren't they handsome!? Birdie, why aren't you looking?"

That heretic magpie was fluffing herself in the birdbath, utterly disinterested in Gilbert's enlightenment. She tipped her beak up and shook her wings until a white mist glittered in the air about her.

Gilbert bent down and unbuttoned the shoes, then buttoned them again. He squeezed them and felt where his toes wiggled beneath the material. He dug the heels into the gravel and tested how much traction they provided. With every new finding, his smile grew wider, and his mood grew lighter. A purring pigeon's coo escaped his lips before he burst into a full conniption. White cheeks turned rosy. Pointed ears wiggled with glee.

"I love these shoes!" He howled to everyone and no one. "They're so awesome and excellent! They're better than anything Fritz has given me!"

(This was, of course, a hyperbole, as Fritz had only two days before gifted his charge with _three _bottles of whole cream and a steaming pot of pumpkin soup alongside his usual snack of a dozen rolls.)

The hag of a bird cawed once more before lifting her wings and returning to her perch atop the house. Gilbert danced and pranced around the backyard with the soul of a quite ancient fairy. Oh, what joy there came in discovery! This whole trip had been worth something! He could tell Fritz that by his own deliberate machinations, he had taken himself down into a human's backyard, then put on some shoes, and…

Wait…

Relayed in his mind, it became quite mundane.

Gilbert's smile slipped. He regarded the shoes, like prized treasures buried for centuries, and then bit at his lip in thought. In all the tales he'd read in the back room of Fritz's bookshop, adventures were often grand excursions into stark and sundry dangers. There were evil witches and bloodthirsty ogres and ruthless pirates patrolling far-off seas. How would a meager anecdote of shoe thievery work itself into the lore?

Sucking in his breath, he justified his cause. He _was _in quite the perilous position, what with at least two _humans _lurking just behind that rectangular portal, and he had recently come into contact with a truly invaluable treasure, this being the shoes. Why did his excursion seem so meaningless? Could it be his prize was not precious and his mission not dire? If so, why had he come all this way? And why had he _danced _and _praised _his shoes so profoundly?

Gilbert stuck his bony elbows outward and stemmed his skeletal hands on his hips. The smirk was crawling onto his face again.

"I've been acting like… a _child."_

_Childishness. _

With a great squeal of joy, Gilbert pumped his left fist in the air and marched around like the proudest of generals. It _was _quite possible for him to behave like a callow, simple-minded child! His rational mind evaded such silly notions, but when he confronted them, he could only feel an odd sense of fulfillment! Finally, he felt grounded! Not on some celestial platform laughing at Man's polarized thoughts, but among the foolishness himself! He'd forgotten what _shoes _were, for darkness' sake! And then he'd pretended they were precious!

Gilbert's ribs ached now for an entirely different reason. His throat was straining to contain so much laughter and mirth.

"I really am a kid, aren't I? Shouting over shoes! Maybe next time I'll squeal at the squashes and coo at the cornflowers! I'm a _kid!" _

He looked at the shoes again, lovingly this time, and turned on his sturdy heels.

"Ah, laughing so much feels good! I should do it more often. Well, shoes, you're mine now. My awesome changeling-ness has cursed you forever to unawesome human soles."

(The notion of returning them had never once crossed his mind.)

With another round of hysterics standing by, he shimmied back through the hole under the wall he'd emerged from, bravely used the shoes as mittens to buffer him from the gothic fence, and scampered away into the forest to fully enjoy his invaluable prize.

For a time, his mind was filled with human whimsies.

* * *

**~N~**

**Pithy, but provocative. This started with a plot bunny that turned into a longer planned story, but four or so pages in, it lacked life and I lost motivation, so I went back to my "Caterpillar Courtesy" style of describing silly events with as much grace and verboseness as possible. The whole thing was then written in one afternoon and one evening. **

**Published By Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net the 2nd of September, Year of our Lord Prussia 827. Respect my literary sovereignty, or forever lose your shoes. **


	4. 1:4 Ruthless

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**4\. Ruthless**

**Roderich confronts his father, who reveals a shocking secret and offers some bitter advice for the future.**

* * *

No one knew what Ulrich Edelstein hid within his locked study upstairs. The stark black door stood out among the papered walls and boasted its tarnished brass doorknob like the hallway's proud maniac. It was not his workplace, where he sorted papers and shifted grand sums from account to account, but rather a _secret _study, filled with things that were not for the eyes of children.

Roderich would be enlightened one cold September afternoon.

He sat on the first stair and yanked at his creamy stockings until they snagged. Not high enough? Halfway up his calves wasn't high enough? And what sort of nosy governess did his mother expect to appear? She had a fever of the mind to suddenly up and condemn his sockery in the middle of the afternoon. Granted, she was much frazzled from the impending arrival of her sister, but he had seen a true coldness in her features — a coldness as rare as her pearls.

When he'd managed to pull them up to his knees, he sniffed, huffed, coughed, and then trundled up the stairs with his nose in the air.

He hadn't made it halfway up when he realized, quite sadly, that Gigi could not give counsel. The good fairy was now in the final year of learning to hone his ancient talents, and he would not be back until sometime in the winter. He had left his pupil behind with only a letter of goodwill and an enchanted feather that would sing if Roderich played in tune.

The boy was about to turn around and trundle back down the stairs when he noticed the oddest sight:

The black door was open a crack.

Roderich crept closer. A crooked and curious smile wrought itself upon his face as he approached the veil guarding his father's mysteries. Spindly fingers wrapped around the unseen edges and discovered the keeper to be sturdy and stalwart in its defense.

"Woman, I need the draft. Pretend it's closed," his father barked from within.

Roderich flinched. The homey scent of fresh flowers died as a true rankness poured forth — that of tobacco smoke and mildew seeping through the walls. A bit of candlelight shone from a bureau at the far end, and beyond there was a glowing window overtaken by dust and paint.

He tried to duck out of the room, but tripped over his feet and landed with a curse on his back. His limbs flew wildly about as he righted himself and dusted off his trousers. His socks were creased around his ankles again. Fretfully, he knelt to yank on them and cursed louder when the seams began to tear.

"Is your mother driving you up the wall?"

Roderich pulled the socks up as high as they would stretch before standing straight and looking into the face of his father at the doorway. Cold worry sloshed inside his chest. Had his father heard those words coming from his mouth? He hadn't said them, right? And if he had, what _could _he have said? What was to be the consequence? Would it be dire? Would it return to haunt him on a summer's holiday and ruin his appetite?

"Roderich."

His hand tensed. He wanted so earnestly and passionately to grab at his chest, but that action would only mean condemnation, and strength was not easily borne from shame—

His father retreated into the darkness and began to close the door. Suddenly ripping free, Roderich grabbed the handle and pulled back.

"Yes, she is driving me up the wall," he pouted.

"Then come in. You're a man. You can lock yourself up when a woman's having a spell."

Roderich nodded as if in a dream and entered the dark, rank room. He jumped when his father closed and locked the heavy door before returning to the bureau at the back.

The study was cramped. Only a small source of ventilation on the ceiling gave any indication of its usefulness. The rug was green and squishy and singed in places. The wallpaper was plain cream with an obscure gray motif. A dead fireplace rusted away in the corner, and the bookshelves on the side closest to the door sagged from the travail of holding so many neglected volumes. As far as he could see, it held nothing bizarre or ineffable. Gigi's colorful rumors were severed from Roderich's imagination. This room was a despondent hideaway, not a quirky hidden world.

Ulrich, taciturn once again, adjusted his monocle, sniffed, and began to polish a strange stick with a rag and some grease.

"You don't have to linger in the corner like a simpleton. Come over."

Roderich scooted up the room, not making sense of this activity. Why polish a stick? Did his father plan to whittle it or carve it into a flute?

He was answered when he saw it was not an ordinary stick. For one, it was of a completely straight and smooth grain, and already polished like the leg of a chair. One end dipped and curved into a bulbous "handle" of sorts, and the other end was perfectly pointed. It was stained for the maple composing it, and as his father polished, the streaks of grain began to shine with an eerie bluish light.

"It's a baton," Roderich said.

His father shook his head and tutted. "This is an instrument for the conversion and application of energy. I've collected twelve of them over the years. Every once in a while they need special care."

The bluish glow swirled under the surface of the wood. A few cerulean sparks gathered under Ulrich's fingertips as he worked. The way his face remained indifferent brought Roderich to look for signs he was dreaming. That glow, that beautiful sparkle coming from an "energy instrument…"

"You can hold it," his father said, and gave him the curious stick. Roderich weighed it in his hands. The wood was cold to the touch despite the grease. With his right hand, he gripped around the handle and wiggled it about. A flash of blinding blue sparks erupted from the tip. They winked out like ashes and drifted down to smolder and crumble on the dusty floor. A sudden pang of weakness struck him in the gut, and he folded.

"Sucks the life right out of you, doesn't it?" Ulrich said with a smirk.

"This… it's… it's _magic. _Is… d-do you like magic?"

"Speak clearly, boy."

"You said wizardry is a wicked and blasphemous art."

"As a profession it is."

"Why do you have magic wands?"

Here Ulrich's forehead creased, as if he wasn't interested in sharing such personal information. Roderich put the wand back on the desk and shrank, feeling quite betrayed by these new notions.

"Roderich, I'm not going to tell you about mankind's ambition. If you follow me at all, you know your purpose as a human is to seek out knowledge and power until the day your life is snuffed out and your progeny take the reins. A man knows his goals and accomplishes them by whatever means he can."

"But only fairies—"

"What about fairies?"

"I thought fairies were the only ones who should use magic."

A tightness came over Ulrich's features, and by some precocious, defiant spark, Roderich knew his father was conflicted. The moment passed. Lord Edelstein composed himself and laced his fingers on the desk.

"There are _powers _in the world. Indescribable powers we can't fully understand, but which are strong enough to alter the natural way of things. I will not tell you it's wise to tamper with them, but if they are available to you, and you must utilize them as a means to accomplish your goals, there is no shame in taking advantage of them."

Roderich's voice grew small. "Why tell me this? After all the hurtful things you say to Gigi about magic being a _disease."_

"When have I ever insulted that sprite?"

"You talk behind his back. You say his magic is the same as an imp's and that you don't trust it. Why are you talking to me now like using these 'powers' as a human is good?"

"Because I'm starting to become of the opinion that you may need magic if you're ever going to amount to something."

The throbbing in his chest returned. Fed up, Roderich sat cross-legged on the rug and furtively tugged at his lapels.

"Pick yourself up, Rod. You think it's critical to say that with all your deficiencies, a little magic wouldn't be useful? I criticize the _powers_ because humans have come so far without them. We don't sing corn into existence; we break our backs plowing, and we're proud of that. Now, you catch a cold four times a winter, trip over yourself, and complain about your heart and your stomach. You have no shame and no tenacity. It's _impish." _

"I am not an imp!"

"Then I should see you toughening up. At least eat more at supper, or you'll snap like a twig once you hit your growth spurt."

"Gigi said I don't have to worry about growing up yet."

"Gigi sings grapes into wine. He's never truly worked a day in his life. You are the son of a businessman who knows the fault of idleness, and you will grow to be as ruthless as he is. Nothing must stand in your way. Ends justify means. I'm learning dark spells so I can defend our house against the pale vermin in the woods."

The boy let his quivering lip flop out from the grip of his teeth. Again the classical composers of his conscience argued for a reasonable opinion of the man he was supposed to admire. Absentmindedly, he reached out and fumbled with the books on the lowest shelf. He pulled out a pocket-sized volume and flipped through its aged pages.

"Your mother wants to coddle you. I argued with her about it this morning, and she's not going to change her mind. She can chastise you if she wishes, but my purpose is to defend you and make sure you can feel fulfilled later in life. There are many more evil powers than good ones. You've already met with them, and once I find a way to keep them out for good, you can stop whinging about them every day at breakfast."

Roderich squinted to see the minute text bleeding in fuzzy splotches over the paper. The book was printed with diagrams and sigils — weird stars within circles, cubes with too many edges, jagged spiderwebs of lines and angles, and tessellating polygons. At one point, he saw a drawing of a hand bearing a wand and flicking the tip into the shape of a curved rhombus. The familiar gothic typeset below it read, in ambiguous terms:

**_To make whole the body_**

He stared at the words. The musty odor of the book wafted into his face like a beckoning steam. Crystal-blue eyes traced every artistic curve of each printed letter. His heart lessened its abuse. This was ludicrous. Could something like this exist? And could it "make whole" his body like Gigi's voice eased his mind and his feelings?

Ulrich had gone back to polishing — a mahogany wand now — seeing the boy was unwilling to listen to him. Trembling, Roderich lifted himself up, studying the diagram and the odd incantation above it. His thin hand hovered over the desk until he felt the grain of the first wand.

There came a knock at the door.

"Ulrich! My sister has arrived!"

"Then greet her."

"I have! It's your turn to greet her!"

"Is she married yet?"

"Now, you know you have no right to tease her so!"

"She's nearly thirty, Gertrude. You know I'm not going to pay for her."

"You open this hideous door and greet her before we eat all your food!"

Snarling, Ulrich rose from his chair and tromped over to the door to deal with his ruthless wife and her outlandish sister. The argument erupted in its predictable script, and Roderich had his chance.

He placed the book on the desk and strengthened his grip on the handle of the wand. He heard the tuning note — a hopeful concert A — before the other tones came to harmonize and chatter amongst each other in preparation for the grand symphony. Then, wiggling the point, he smoothly traced the spell's shape in the air as if conducting the orchestra of his dreams.

A steady stream of misty blue sparkles poured from the tip of the wand as he waved it. Roderich felt his arm stiffen, then tingle. He voiced the incantation, severely hoping he pronounced it right, and continued to direct his unseen players.

_He thinks such a beautiful thing as magic is shameful, and that I must be shameful in order to hide my shameful ways. The art of magic is only a means for an end. _

_But I don't want to be ruthless. _

_I just want him to respect me… like I respect him. _

_He's infallible. _

_I'm weak. _

_Heal me! _

The boy gasped in sudden weakness. A good portion of his back had gone numb. He tried to drop the wand, but his fingers were frozen to the handle, and his wrist kept flicking and swaying rhythmically in the shape of the sigil. The rounded rhombus was glowing a mesmerizing shade of electric blue. It flashed and layered itself over the light innocent tint of his eyes, and he gaped in awe of the power he wrought.

Following the final step, he pressed the tip of the wand to his nose. There came a thrilling buzz to his temples that zinged up and down his nerves. For a moment, he felt extraordinarily light, and then rather puffy, as if his thin frame were soaking up some healthy force and fleshing out into something strong and useful. The aches in his chest bubbled away. His wobbly legs burned as they swelled and stabilized. His hair grew softer, his skin peachier, his voice louder and purer. It was as if he were a puppet to be ridiculed before, and now he was a _son… _

His eyes rolled back.

Gertrude's horrified shriek tore through the mansion and the gardens beyond. She pushed past her husband to kneel by her son, who had collapsed on the rug. The pitiful beginnings of transformation faded and died away, leaving him small and slight once more. The magic wand slipped from his fingers and rolled across the dusty floor. Gertrude snatched it up and pointed it at her offender.

"How _dare _you let him play with something like this!? What was he about to do?"

Ulrich recounted the mess and swiped his gaze over the book on the desk before kneeling to check for a pulse.

"The wand drained his energy before he was able to hurt himself. He's fine."

"What was he doing?"

"Attempting a spell to cure and beautify himself, it appears."

Gertrude cradled her son's head and steamed in anger. "He doesn't want to be like you. Stop putting those ideas in his head. Did you tell him to use magic on himself?"

"I told him to use it if it was necessary."

"And you see it as necessary, don't you? Because you equate his weakness with _impishness. _Well, I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to have a talk with him, and _for once _you're going to tell him you love him the way he is—"

"I told him I'm defending him from the darkness."

"That's just going to make it worse. He admires you for the wrong reasons. Ulrich? _Ulrich!"_

Ulrich took the glowing wand in his hand and assessed his son's face. The boy had a steaming blue streak of a bruise that began on his nose and ended in a spot of charred skin under the left corner of his lip. This was the only vestige of the botched enchantment. Carefully, Ulrich pressed the wand to Roderich's temple. He uttered under his breath.

**_"_****_Breele." _**

"What? What does that do?" His wife whispered.

"It is a charm that makes one forget experiences with another person. He will have no memory of me rebuking him today. We'll tell him that scar is a mole."

"And you'll support him from now on?"

Ulrich's hands quivered. He saw the youth of his own face in that of his son, but neither strength nor ambition imbued alongside. Roderich was flawed just enough.

"I will protect him as I always have."

Just enough for the imps to pounce.

* * *

**I needed to elaborate on Rod's relationship with his father before I get into the true meat of the series. I'll leave it up to you readers to judge Ulrich for his behaviors.**

**Next one-shot: Three years pass, and two worlds collide once more!**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net September 8th, 2019. Reposters will be cursed. **


	5. 1:5 The Hatred in His Head

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**5\. The Hatred in his Head**

**Breaking under the weight of an unusual and impossible wish, Gilbert learns he must confront the reality of his magical blood — and face Roderich once again.**

***M**

* * *

**_The Earth, she plans a clever ruse  
_****_By dressing up in whites and blues_**

The dream-child pulled itself through the crack between dry, quivering lips and hung delicately from the chin to dry the dew from its wings. Its papery body shook with every breath. An opal shell upon its back buzzed and crinkled like foil, casting wavering rainbows upon the walls of the candlelit chamber. Many hairy legs twitched, holding on tight for protection.

The outside world was dangerous for such a gaudy thought. It should've stayed where it belonged — locked up in its gilded cage of fancy where it would never be condemned. Delighted and entertained by the daydreams of its creator, who kept it dumb and fed it with impossible desires.

"No, Gilbert."

The dream-child died, and Gilbert despaired at its carcass. In revenge, he slashed and caught his mentor in the cheek with his pinky nail. Fritz seized and folded his arms before pushing Gilbert back down on the bed and forcibly tucking him in.

"Why do you hate me!?" Gilbert sobbed into his pillow. "You were the only one I trusted, and you're not even on my side!"

"Why don't you find yourself a friend to be on your side?"

"I don't need friends!"

"Why not?"

"Because… because I _can't _have them! There's _no one _out there who could love me this way! _Please, _Fritz! Make me _human! _Please make me human like I should be! Isn't there some magic amulet that can grant wishes and correct mistakes?"

"You are _fae."_

"Screw off!"

_"__You_ can 'screw off,' get of my tower, find a home, and swap with a chubby cherub."

"That's not what I want!"

"Then get out of my tower, find a home, and swap with a brooding, moody teenager who conspires in his room all day. Don't generalize, now. You can find humans of every temperament if you look hard enough."

"That's rich, Fritz. Your human disguise came from a gutter."

"What poet isn't a degenerate? I fabricated my other life with realism in mind. You need to find what works for you."

"What works for me is being a real human. I'll give up my powers. I'll… I'll give up hearing the forest's voice. I'll go to school just like they do. I'll comb my hair and tie my tie and—"

"You're generalizing again. Many humans live far away from schools and can't afford ties. They learn at home, working in the fields and harvesting crops to make a living."

"I could do that."

"Then get out of my tower—"

"Fritz, stop defining me by my looks. My mind is… not… I _know _I'm not like they say I am, but I feel so _disgusting _in this skin."

"Now, that's a little dramatic for someone who could turn into a butterfly if he pleased."

At this comment, so frenzied became Gilbert's fit that the tempest outside lashed the tower with its tendrils until the floorboards shook with angst. He tore out his feathery hair and thrashed under the covers. "No! Please,_ listen_ to me! This is my last desperate hope! I don't _want_ to see a monster in the mirror anymore!"

Fritz rolled his eyes before plopping himself down at the end of the bed and clasping his hands in his lap.

"Gilbert, we cannot change who we are. We can change shape, but our nature remains fae. We can charm away our memories, but our shape remains fae."

"And if we—"

"If we change shape _and _charm away our memories, what good does it do? Eventually, we will discover we are fae, and _then, _then we will either be excited about being fae or hide from ourselves and be unhappy. Either way, Man never succeeds at being what he is not. I'm disappointed in you. Haven't I taught you for three years now how much power you hold over humanity?"

"I don't remember having power when they tried to shoot me."

"Why do you want to become that same monster? Would it make you feel safe?"

Gilbert whimpered, then squeaked. He dug his fingers into the soft dips between his ribs. "I'd be less of a monster than I am now."

"So if there were some way to change your entire self — shape, thoughts, and _true nature_ — you would take the chance and make it so, even if every changeling sees you as a traitor and every human sees you as a buffoon."

"They wouldn't have to know. No one knows me right now, anyway."

"They would know by your empathy with our kind, unless you are willing to forfeit that as well. And then you know where you'd be — right on the other side of that bow."

"But maybe… if I didn't remember…"

Fritz threw a cushion at his charge's face, resisting every urge to smack him.

"Don't you dare deny what happened that night!"

"I'd be a good human! I wouldn't allow that to happen!"

"But with no memories, how easily would you learn the culture?"

"I wouldn't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I… I'd just think about how the poor creatures feel."

"How do you feel right now?"

Gilbert bit his lip and breathed so harshly the tip of his beaky nose twitched. All at once, the nightmare that had called Fritz to his bedside rushed back to him. In the specters of candlelight, he could see the molten iron bubbling up from the earth and pouring over the hillsides, spitting flames over every tree and painting the sky a toxic black. Bluebirds ceased singing. Finches puffed away in clouds. Even those heretic magpies were victims of the inferno, and their caws were lost forever.

And Roderich's hateful glare had begun the blaze.

Ninety seconds in a pentagram had taught Gilbert everything he ever needed to know about his true identity. He was _ugly. _He was _flawed. _And if he had a heart at all, it was shrunken and black. His childish visions far outweighed the powers of his infinite mind, and it took every bit of energy to convince him he was _not _a monster.

No. In the madness of it all, Gilbert was a damned human.

"You would deny a trifle of your existence, only to be another changeling's torment? Say you're not a monster and make a freak of yourself instead? That's selfish."

Gilbert choked, shaking his head. He closed his eyes before they could see the pitiful twiggy fingers cage his face in shame.

"Your nature defines you. Your experiences shape you. The only way to grant your wish is to forfeit this life and hope for reincarnation. But even that wouldn't destroy the vestiges of _Gilbert _within your spirit. You could find yourself in a different time, orbiting a distant star in a universe where fae are fiction. You could be human. You could be ghostly quiet. You could even be a woman.

"But what if this new you can see the invisible, but can't understand her own feelings? Or if she's unusually charmed by the thought of changing shape? Or if friendship becomes the rarest gem in her lonely inner world? Then she'd think, 'Ach, I must truly be a changeling!' But you realize, of course, how silly that would make her look, for her beauty was born of a wish to _liberate_ her from changeling-ness! She's not a changeling! She's just special! Quirky, even!"

"So what's your point?"

"My point is that no one is born a mistake, and if you want to move on from this, you need to stop thinking about _who you are _and instead think about what _purpose_ you can achieve! Why wouldn't you adore the marvelous fae powers you've been given!? I call you Gilbert because it's what's _correct._ It's written in your stars that you will find glory as _Gilbert_ and not the Baron Wilhelm Bisi von Pfannkuchen. My boy, don't covet what isn't yours!"

"But what if I don't feel like being Gilbert?"

Fritz knit his brows and sighed, rustling what was left of Gilbert's snowy hair. "You need to get out of your head. Let's go for a walk."

"At night in a storm?"

"Especially."

**_And mirroring that sphere above  
_****_So that she may receive its love,_**

October of that year had come with a blustery bite. It had rained for a whole week, spawning heaps of mushrooms amidst the mud and puffing Gilbert's world full with a melancholy mist. The dark panel of storm clouds rumbling above that night concealed the pale moon and all the secrets of the stars. In darkness, the sticky stains of tear-trails were only silvery whispers on the apparent teen's face. With some reluctance due to the aftershock of his fit, he shuffled along after his mentor, pulling thick folds of black fabric around his shoulders.

Fritz's silhouette loomed ahead of him, marked by the deep blue and black of his own robe. His long, frazzled hair was fastened tight in a ponytail. In one hand, he carried his flute case. Gilbert darted forward to catch up, shivering at the rain pricking the nape of his neck.

"Gilbert, you're the biggest pain in the ass I've ever rescued, but I don't hate you. Don't accuse me so."

"I'm sorry. I was just angry."

"Exactly. Let me give you something hard to swallow. Hatred, _true _hatred, is extremely rare in the natural world."

Gilbert's ruby eyes grew huge. "Then there's too much of it!"

"No, no. There is but a mite as small as a milkweed seed. Of course, it's terribly destructive, but it is _not _as prevalent as you'd think. Rather, it is invented in many forms, and these forms are like shadows that can blight a healthy mind.

"You were almost executed for trying to make a friend. I once watched my human 'father' shoot the one I loved after he found us eating all his eggs. These are acts of malice. But tell me, why did they happen? When you met Roderich, did he call for his father to destroy you because he _hates _you? Did he feel real and utter malice toward you — the kind that makes eyes glisten with fire and the heart ache for the enemy's instant destruction?"

"You're saying he _didn't_ hate me?"

"It wasn't hatred that caused him to reject your invitation. It was partly _fear, _and partly _disgust, _and above all, cold human _apathy. _You _say _he hated you when in reality he gave nil shits about your pain. If he truly hated you, he would've let you know that your torment is his pleasure."

"Roderich tried to kick me. I hadn't even done anything. I was a stupid baby, and I just wanted someone to laugh with! I was dying, and he… didn't care."

Fritz laughed, gesturing proudly in the murky shadows of the storm. "Apathy! Did any of those archers hate you when they aimed at your heart? No! They didn't care about you enough to feel anything good or bad! They just wanted you out of their sight!"

"I felt hatred in that pentagram."

"No. You felt _fear _and _sadness,_ and you now blame them on a hatred that didn't exist. I'm not saying anyone was innocent, because killing a child of any shape or size is the one unforgivable evil, but that's the truth. The hatred is in your head now. You can fight it, but it's too stubborn to die. And because of that, the humans' casual fact becomes your own. You are a monster."

"Does that mean I'm fated to be a monster?"

"You'll do with what Fate gives you. She gave me the robe to hide my ears and the tower to craft my curses, and now I'm a dark wizard."

"I still won't believe you on that."

Fritz pulled his hood down to conceal his pale face, and Gilbert mimicked the motion.

"The spells kind old human Fritz sells in his shop are _real. _What else do you need?"

"If you were the Dark Wizard Fritz, it would be awesome. But you've never invited me on any raids, so—"

"You want to be invited on a cursing raid? All right. Fine. We're on a raid right now. Look over there."

Gilbert peered through the whipping branches of a willow tree. Lightning forked through the sky, illuminating every detail of a backyard not unlike the ones he pilfered all his footwear from. There was no gothic fence to guard the place — only a low wooden picket fence that had recently been whitewashed. A garden of pumpkins was overflowing with sopping soil. Gilbert felt a twinge in his stomach for the warmth of pumpkin soup.

Hunched low over the despairing little garden was an old man with a quilt pulled over his head. He was working diligently to stabilize the bigger pumpkins before the torrent could wash them away into the forest. His gnarled hands shook with cold as he beat the wooden stakes into the earth. His broom-whisker mustache dripped with beads of moisture. With a groan, he wiped his forehead.

As if slithering though the darkness, Fritz weaved his way under the brambles and crawled right up to the fence. He opened his case and screwed his flute together, then rose to tower above the pitiful rampart. In the blackness of the storm, each board of the fence was rendered a spike of Tartarus, and the infinite hollow beneath Fritz's deathly hood grew to contain all the deepest nightmares of man. Like a gardener far surpassing the humble elder, he raised his scythe of an instrument to his lips.

"You are condemned," he growled in his throat.

The lightning flashed. The old man looked up, and his wrinkled jowls quivered at the ghostly avatar leering at him from the shadows. Not the brightest bolt could stir a sparkle in Death's blue eyes, and so they remained hidden under the folds of his robe.

The gardener made some plea in regards to an irrelevant book of aphorisms, but the judgment had already been passed. Fritz blew into the flute and trailed his fingers over the holes and keys. His eerie melody sank below the din of the rain and reverberated through the earth like ancient sediment. It had no melody and no drive. The key was obscure, the meter ever-shifting, and the tone tilting in and out of tune. Gilbert had never heard such an awful song, yet his heart contracted in his chest, craving to hear more.

With a howl of fright, the old man gaped at his dirty hands to find they were digging into the soil of their own accord. His fingers splayed themselves apart in a row at equal distances, stressing the bones that composed them. Little _cricks _rang out clear in the night when each finger was three inches deep in the ground. But the gardener needn't fret over broken bones. These were soon dissolved entirely and replaced with fibers and rigid cell walls. A hideous green pigment crept up over his hands as they softened and moistened from within. All the delicate musculature was easily disfigured. His hands puffed up into verdant stems, curling with stiff, fuzzy leaves. His knuckles were squished into the earth, pulled downward by the snaking, stretching roots below.

Fritz finished the piece with a winding chromatic, and a mess of wiggling roots burst from the soil halfway across the garden. They twitched like the legs of a spider before spreading and spreading and swelling and swelling. The little globe of a pumpkin bloomed from the center. It creaked as it ballooned in size, dwarfing and smashing every one of its cousins. Nodding at his work, the dark wizard turned and traipsed back into the trees.

"Heh, looks like his dreams are squashed," Fritz muttered. He smirked at his charge. "Gilbert, I hope you're blushing because you're cold."

Gilbert's chest and stomach were churning in tandem with a morbid satisfaction. He couldn't tell whether it was from Schadenfreude or the plumpness of the pumpkin swelling before him compared to his own bony frame. He could never be so plump and sumptuous, and so he _wanted _it. He _craved _it. Alarming excitement tingled in his skin. "Why did you condemn him? Was he bad?"

"Maybe. I'm just indifferent to his pain. See? We're at war with humans, and I'm an equalizer."

"Doesn't that deny our good nature, though?"

Fritz chuckled. "Taking a life denies our nature. Mischief is in our blood."

"Hey, Fritz…" Gilbert pulled the hood off his face, sneezing as a droplet of the now-misty rain dripped down his nose. "Do you think I could curse someone?"

"I thought you wanted to be good. I'll warn you, once you start cursing, it becomes a dangerous habit."

"There's only one person I want to curse."

Fritz flicked his eyes down to take in Gilbert's expression. There was no hesitance — only a conflagration now consuming the depths of those eyes. Something had grown and festered in the heart of the idle changeling boy. It seemed the shadows in his head had dripped down through his body and were now seeping out through his feet to curl and lick at his ankles.

He craved acceptance, and he craved it to the point of calling into question his own identity. But beneath that craving was a fiery hollow of snarled feelings. Human reactions had carefully been stored away in the lockbox of Gilbert's head, in hopes that they would one day ferment into something profoundly more wicked.

_Ach, why don't you smite me, Fate? I was never worthy to glaze your masterpiece for the kiln. _

"Are you sure?"

Here a great tremor wracked Gilbert's body as his resolve quaked. A chill wind made his ears twitch. He sniffled, but the fire within him burned ever brighter.

"I want to go to Edelweiss."

**_But summer fair is wont to fade  
_****_As autumn pretties glen and glade;_**

Edelweiss awaited him, though it gave not a care for his presence.

Gilbert's mind swung on a pendulum through the void of reason. Magnetic whims attracted it right and left, then further left and again right. It quivered in the middle with indecision, then went on its way, pushing him toward the path of closure to that of vengeance and back again.

The last few days, hours, and minutes were muddled by a mixture of insomnia and chills. He'd flown on his own two wings to this place. He'd hooked the window open with his own beak and tottered across the floor with his own talons. And yet all seemed more like a funny dream than reality.

Gilbert evened his breathing. His heated cheeks gave a rosy glow in the darkness of the grand bedroom. The tingling throughout his body intensified as his head inched up the wall he leaned against. With one hand, he scraped the dwindling quills from his neck, and with the other, he groped blindly at nothing, simply indulging in the sensation of his new fingers growing into the twiggy shapes he knew. He gave a wet gasp as his proud, avian chest collapsed, the muscles deflating and flattening into their original felted forms. His ears stretched out at the sides of his head and flicked. His gold-and-silver beak softened and molded back into his nose.

Then his tongue caught on the new sharpness of his teeth, and the spell of pleasure was lifted.

"Ach, this is so bad! Why are you here, Gilbert!? You're going to die!"

He coughed as he slipped on the trousers he'd brought. Bit by bit, he breathed in the blanket of a dampened smoke. It settled in his chest and hung heavily in the hollow of his lungs. The magical core in his throat sputtered and sparked, sending a wave of weakness rushing through his blood. Gilbert straightened himself and took a deep breath. The dead motif of flowers on the wall unnerved him.

"Stand up. Be brave. Hold on. I just have to find him. I just want to talk to him. That's all. I don't have to curse him. That would be… I suppose it would be okay. No, I have to curse him. That's how I get back. The curse has already been paid for. But…"

He couldn't finish the thought. Gilbert gasped, then scrambled to conceal himself under the vast wedge of a bed. The door to the room had swung open, and a voice that inspired the violence of winter disturbed the room's smokey odor.

"Who does Liutberht think he is, spending that kind of money on a child?" It said.

"It's certainly a luxury," Replied a nasally complement.

"That maker? It cost a fortune, and it's utterly inappropriate for the occasion."

"I don't think so. He'll use it for years. It saves us the investment."

"Don't tell me you thought of buying him something like that. On top of the organ lessons?"

"What if I did? Would it be any different than my sister and her husband treating us so?"

"We don't invest in extravagances, dear."

"Well, you can't deny it's a splendid birthday gift. You saw how his face lit up when he saw it. I'm looking forward to the little recital after supper, where you will be _civil _to the Duke of Liutberht!"

"What's this!?"

Gilbert bit down hard on his lip. He saw a hairy hand reach down and pick up the flute case from where he'd left it in the corner. He heard the clasps click and the case open.

"Ulrich? Oh, I get it now! You silly man! Of course you'd be jealous of a pianoforte if you bought Roddy a flute!"

"I didn't buy him this! This wasn't here before!"

"You don't have to be ashamed of anything. Why don't you surprise him after the recital?"

"I didn't buy this infernal instrument!"

But heeled footsteps had already left the room, leaving the grumbling man alone. Gilbert pulled himself into as tight a ball as he could. He watched the same hairy hands snatch up the paltry feathers one by one. His heart rattled against his ribs.

Ulrich's simply-clad feet stepped to the place just under the window. Gilbert heard the pane shut and the terrible human speak.

"I know you left this here, Spirits of Nature. But I'll have you know that my son, however frail and effeminate, will not be inspired by your encouragement. I never asked you to flood his veins with this musical _Gift _in the first place, and I won't be moved by the fits it inspires. He is not your plaything while my blood is warm within him. Now cease your experiments, or I'll mow down every mushroom in the orchard and curse the soil beneath."

Ulrich then stowed the flute under a floorboard in the corner, grunting something about burning it later, and stormed out of the room.

Gilbert remained under the bed until long after his heart had quieted itself. He whimpered at the cramps in his back. Hot tears bubbled over his cheeks. This was so bad! Why had he returned? What if Roderich rejected him again? What if Roderich was taller and stronger than him after three long years? Human frailty was grand compared to changeling frailty. Why, Roderich could _kick _him, and he'd fold in two!

His ears suddenly twitched, and he ceased his sniffling.

Was that… _music? _

A warm, cottony bubble of sound was rising up through the floor. Its sparkling melody condensed on Gilbert's ears and sent a tingle of comfort pulsing down his spine. His heart was enchanted by the dulcet tones. His mind was calmed and purified by the rivers of sweetness pouring out from whatever instrument could _plink _and _plunk _such crystal harmonies.

"That's so nice…"

Inspired from within, Gilbert closed his eyes and crawled out from under the bed, swaying and swinging along to the tune. A crooked smile spread on his face as he crept toward the door of the room. Who on earth could create such awesome music? He'd already traveled to that higher dimension where philosophers wove worlds with soprano saxes— but they played in vain! This new instrument was the envy of kings and queens, descended from the divine!

Time melted again. Gilbert slipped out through the door, wiping all the foolish tears from his cheeks. He floated along the carpeted hall and drifted to the staircase. His feet went first, lightly treading down the steps that led to nowhere. The clouds were in his head now, and he couldn't fight them.

_CREEEAK. _

"Ach!"

It was an ornery step. Gilbert's eyes grew to glowing red suns. He was completely out in the open. He flicked his gaze to the bottom of the sculpted railing, then to the off-white molding in the corners of the ceiling, then to the innumerable potted plants on tables lining what looked to be an entryway. Nervously, he retracted his foot from the step, but the silken music was still tempting him from across the lava field of open floor at the bottom of the stairs. These Edelsteins were sinless enough for a seraph to plop itself down in their drawing room and spew its saccharine blather? Humans were so vain it was laughable!

Before he knew it, Gilbert had stepped on the creaky stair again, then continued down several more creaky stairs until he was at the foot of the staircase. And from _there, _he scooted from wall to wall until he found himself peeking into a small reception room and the source of the sound.

Five or six humans were seated with varying postures about a great, shiny wooden box on three sculpted legs. Gilbert could recognize the bulbous, hairy face of Ulrich Edelstein among them. The lord of the estate had wrapped his right arm around a spidery-looking woman whose smiling wrinkles were just beginning to mold into place. Ulrich himself was the bearer of a slight smile, though it was tight and mostly concealed by the thick whiskers of his muttonchops.

Besides these, there were two offspring of the snooty stock — male and female — though neither quite as ugly as the changeling's quarry. He briefly took in Gertrude's plain-faced sister and the blond, blue-eyed exemplar of extravagance who must have been the foul "Liutberht." These sat together on their bench, running their fingers through each other's hair, though the husband could only produce the shadow of amusement upon his face of stone.

And seated on a bench at one edge of the mysterious musical box was none other than the young Roderich Edelstein. His fingers danced along a series of black and white keys — each responsible for a certain pitch. Pressing them together made harmonies, and pressing them softly set the soothing mood. All this stifled mirth was Roderich's fault.

Gilbert recalled Ulrich's words. His stomach flip-flopped in disgust.

"You think you can mock the fairer folk by playing something so awesomely pretty it lures _them _into _your _presence? Hubris at its worst!"

A little squall teased about Gilbert's ankles. The fire within him lit anew, and he was ready to put an end to this happy little gathering and set the world back on its course. When Roderich ceased his playing and looked upon his audience with a countenance of rude indifference, Gilbert was grinding his teeth and pressing his nose hard against the door frame and taking in every detail of that stupid face, right down to the mole now hanging just below the corner of his lip.

Then their eyes met.

Again the iron heat flared in Gilbert's mind. Again he felt the rejection. And the pain. And the _hatred, _even if it wasn't real. Again he felt his fingertips pressing into his face, feeling the contours of bones that should've been softened by flesh. Again he told himself this was _wrong. He _was wrong. He wasn't this ugliness. He was power. He was wisdom. He was…

Roderich removed himself from the piano bench. His mother chirped at his side. His father smiled and patted his back. Still, even with _this_ break in the natural order, the boy stood still as stone. Two fingers toyed with the flaps of his shirt between the buttons. He was smaller than Gilbert had expected — or maybe Gilbert had just grown. His eyes were still the same crystal-blue, his hair the same rich brunet, his nose the same wretched, rounded bud of a beak.

In a silent rage, Gilbert ripped back across the floor and stomped up the stairs one by one. The chirping and congratulating of Roderich Edelstein concealed the creakiness. He ripped open the door to Ulrich and Gertrude's bedroom, and after smashing a few trinkets of staggering value, he buried his nose in the sheets, screaming into the muffling fabrics.

"Curses, curses, curses, _curses! I hate him! I HATE HIM! HE DOESN'T DESERVE IT! I HATE HIM!" _

"It's you."

Gilbert's stringy muscles tensed. He pushed himself up from the bed and set his bloody gaze on the smallish figure in the doorway. Fearfulness and rage were contending for an empire. Flying fiends of emotion filled his chest and sent him backing up into the wall. His claws dug into paper flowers stifled by their own endless iterations.

"You came back," Roderich said, closing the door behind him so only the waning sliver of moonlight peeking through the clouds illuminated the room. "I remember you. You're… bigger than me… like in my nightmares."

"You're still puny," Gilbert replied. He laughed in spite of himself. His voice had gone terribly raspy. "Didn't anyone tell you to drink your milk and eat your soup? Or are you a picky eater? You know, if _I _were a picky eater, I'd turn to paper by tomorrow. But you get to be a puny kid! How long does your childhood last?"

"You mean you're a grown-up for your kind? Are you as smart as a grown-up?"

"That depends. Did those Romantic ass-lickers ever truly connect the Self with divine Nature? I heard the forest's voice inside me when I was three weeks old. That should make me a god."

Slowly and steadily, Roderich crept closer. Gilbert braced himself against the wall as the other reached out to touch him. His fingers settled over the cold bellows of Gilbert's chest, then trailed down the ridges of his ribs and came to rest upon the sunken teardrop of his stomach. He pressed inward, and the slightest burble of protest sounded.

Gilbert squealed and swatted the hand away. "Didn't you ever hear of asking before you touch, you little aristo-crap!? How does my gut feel any different from yours anyway? Oh, yes, mine's always empty, and yours is like a nice squishy pillow."

He threw out his own exploring fingers, but Roderich side-stepped and fled to hide on the other side of the bed, mumbling to himself. "I _knew _you were still out there somewhere. Are you an evil spirit? No, I can touch you! You're alive! You're so ugly!"

Gilbert scoffed. "You're right! I _am _alive! Is it a blessing or a curse that I survived my first execution? How should I know? What's a baby supposed to think when his request for friendship gets him a pentagram? What does he dwell on for three long years? Probably the fact that he's _more _than a human's grace and intellect stuffed into this ugliness!"

"Well, I don't know what you saw in taking _my_ shape. Unless you want to die faster."

Gilbert unstuck himself from the wall. He seized a pillow and crawled over the bed until he could bash his adversary over the head with it.

"Don't say things like that, Roder-ishy Edel-slime. You have no idea what I could do to you. I'm magic, you know."

Roderich ripped the pillow away and stood up, whapping it across Gilbert's face. "I don't know how you know my name, but it only makes me distrust you more. My mama sent me up here to find some extra birthday gift, but I could just as easily tell her I found _you _instead. You have ten seconds to explain why you're here, or you'll taste iron, _monster._"

Gilbert frowned, then slouched on the remaining pillows. Their feathery plushness was a true wonder of luxury upon his back. "I came back to find out if you hate me."

"Yes, I hate you. Anything else?"

"Why?"

Here Roderich furrowed his brows and shot the changeling a look that was far too wise for his youthful features. There was fear within him; Gilbert could sense it well, but he let the boy speak.

"Why? You really want to know why? Because you're an _imp,_ and you ruined my life. Don't think you'd be happy in my shoes. I'm skinny for my age, and I'm always sick, and my papa sometimes thinks I've already been _swapped _because of those things. I keep having this dream I hate where I look in the mirror and see _you_. I wake up feeling like I really am an imp!"

"And yet you've got every reason to be happy, Roddy! I heard you playing that instrument. Do you realize most _fairies_ can't play like that!? You have musical _powers!_ And you… you don't even deserve them! No vain little snivel-schnoz like you deserves them!"

Roderich sniffed. "I'd like the power to change my shape, and you don't deserve that. Maybe we could switch our talents."

"Changing shape doesn't make life any better. For me, it's only a reminder of how I'll never be truly human inside."

"Nothing could make you human."

Here came the emptiness.

Gilbert quit the bed and stood facing the hateful motif again. His body was filled with emptiness. Was it cold? Hot? He couldn't tell. It was devoid of substance, and intangible as air. Why had he come here? To settle his madness? To _reconcile? _To act on the hope that perhaps he really wasn't a monster in the end, and that he need not be jealous? His thoughts rose toward Apeiron and all its stupid, soprano sax scholars until they were fuzzy and indistinct.

And then he understood why he felt so empty. His head was full of the twitching corpses of ideals.

All that remained was the hatred.

"I get it now, Fritz. All you meant was that I should accept the things I can't change. It would be a shame to call myself anything other than Gilbert, but the rest I can decide for myself."

"Your name is _Gilbert?"_

Gilbert squatted down in the corner and fished his flute from its hiding place. He screwed it together, then stood and turned to face all the darkness in his life, the red-hot suns of his eyes now blasting their dying fumes into empty space. "That's right. Now tell me again. You said you feel like an imp?"

Roderich started for the door. "I'm getting my father. If you lay one finger on me—"

"You don't feel like an imp, Roderich. Your daddy issues may sting, but they don't blight away your innocence. And your body may shake, but you've never seen your bones rise like stones out of the tide if you haven't eaten for a day. You self-entitled, bratty, selfish, spoiled, sniveling petted _poodle _of a child! _You _have never clawed your way out of a sack and found five iron arrows pointed at your heart. All _you_ want is for others to pity you. Well, Roddy, others don't care how you feel. Just like you don't care how I feel."

Then he lunged. His stringy limbs wrapped around Roderich, and with just enough force to cancel out his paltry weight, the two of them crashed to the floor. Instantly, Roderich was kicking and screeching. His foot caught Gilbert right in his shrunken stomach, and he spat up the mouse he'd eaten in eagle form an hour before. Gilbert felt bruises bloom beneath the surface of his skin. He dodged a sneaky slap and pulled his ears as far back as they would go when the other grabbed for them.

But the changeling learned Roderich's movements instantly. His mind could predict each new strike and respond reflex by reflex. He saw Roderich's fingernails swipe for his cheek and caught the offending hand. He felt the thick body beneath him wiggle and succeed in shrugging off his weight, so he shifted and kneeled on Roderich's stomach. Roderich's breath was forced from him. His right hand snapped to Gilbert's left knee, which was pressing down hard over his chest. His blue eyes bulged in terror, and his voice was reduced to a strangled squeak.

_"__Tired!?_ Ahahahaha! Strong little kid, aren't you? Too bad your papa won't see you fighting back against _this!_ They've heard us downstairs. You admitted you hate me, so you're officially condemned. I've only got a second now."

"No, please. Don't. I'd get lost. I wouldn't last a day in the woods, and you wouldn't last a day here. Just go away. Find someone else. Not me!"

Gilbert sneered at the gasping ghost beneath him and licked his lips. "I suppose I could give you pain, but that wouldn't equal what I've felt all this time. It has to be something more. Hatred for hatred. Fear for fear. Ach, I'm so awesome and you're not!"

"THERE'S AN IMP! HELP!"

_"__Roderich!?" _

Gilbert thrust his knee into the boy's stomach so hard he coughed. He had no time now. Perhaps ten seconds more…

He raised his flute to his lips and blew with that same twisted smirk of a pucker he'd seen Fritz wear when cursing the gardener. The magic within him pulsed gleefully for the chance to change and warp the outside world. He reached within for his mental lockbox and carefully unclasped the lock, letting the darkness spill free.

He poured the black feelings into a song he knew only by the teachings of nature and the grimoires of Fritz's collection. Like a wind chime, his music was ambient and strange. It hovered over one note, then slanted chromatically downward, constantly tilting in and out of audible range. He focused all his energy on the struggling twerp below him. His throat tingled. His chest itched. His stomach bubbled with power.

_Make him feel like an imp. _

_"__Don't let it touch you, Roderich! I'm coming!" _

Roderich screamed, and it took only a glance to learn why. His right hand — the one which had finally grasped hold of the wrinkled fabric of his shirt above his heart — had begun to quiver. Faster and faster it quaked and twitched until it was clear the boy could not control it. The fingers squeezed tightly together. The thumb bent backward and snapped with an amusing little _pop. _Then the flesh of the hand itself warped like wet paper and bubbled like mud. The skin was only a weak glove for the squelching mass. A series of faint _cricks _intensified into wet, hollow snapping noises within.

_It's almost like it's trying to turn into a wing without instructions, _Gilbert thought. _Excellent! Of course his mortal coil would hate that! And as a special touch… in the two seconds I have left… _

**_"_****_Let my name put fear and disgust into your heart like yours does mine. If you ever utter or write it, let every bone break again. No one shall know it is I who torment you." _**

Then he pinched Roderich's nose, as a mockery of that old fairytale blessing, and launched himself toward the window. He scraped his claws across the latch and pushed the pane upwards. It was a sheer twenty-foot drop into the shrouded bushes below. With rapid breaths, he hoisted one leg up over the sill and folded his body the best he could to squeeze through the tiny rectangle of an opening.

On the floor, Roderich lay whimpering on his side. Bright red sparks spurted from a blotchy, swollen hand to circle it as the curse took effect. Gradually, like clay, the hand began to reshape itself.

_"__Stay back, woman! You let me go! Roderich! I'm here!"_

A howling Lord Ulrich burst into the room. He took one look at his son, then at the one leg of the creature still dangling in the room, and pointed a long bluish wand at the latter. A guttural bark tore through his lips, and a brilliant black ray of light burst from the tip. It struck the creature squarely in its left shoulder and sparkled in a stripe down its back. The creature fell through the window with a dreadful, raspy squeal.

No subsequent happenings of Edelweiss are worth noting for this night. It is true the entire household was deeply disturbed by the event. But Roderich, for this night and for many weeks afterward, refrained to the point of muteness on elaborating.

**_Or if be blasphemed every star  
_****_"_****_Sky," be not this. Be what you are._**

In the little city of Birngarten a few hours after the cursing, two gentlemen entered a pub. The younger — a lanky teenager with deep bags under his eyes — was sorely underdressed for the late October chill. His companion — a sour yet noble-gaited geriatric — led him along by his sleeves and plopped the two of them down at the bar.

"You are _truly _spectacular, Wilhelm," the old man chuckled. "I heard every bit of that performance. I don't know why I shouldn't just give you my flute and concert robes now and retire."

The youth pinked. "Why are we here, Gramps? Can't I at least rest after all that? It was a long practice session beforehand. And playing takes so much energy out of me. Plus my shoulder is starting to get super sore from holding the flute so long. I really think you should look at it. Plus I'm hungry."

"Never mind that yet. I'm buying you a drink. You're in good form for one."

"Why did you have to be there watching me?"

"I wanted to see the real you."

"You think that was the real me?"

"That was _indubitably _the real you. You are a sparkling young man with so much pride and potential you're blinded by the first flash of it. Oi, Bert! A beer for my grandson! He finally learned to be proactive!"

"A youth's life is tragedy," the barkeep mumbled.

"So Grampy," Wilhelm said, the lick of a smile lighting up his pale face. "What do I do now? If this is who I am, do I just… keep playing?"

"Well? Did it feel good?"

The beer arrived in a mug dripping with condensation and shining like sunlight. Wilhelm dipped his lips into the foam and wrinkled his nose at the first grainy taste. His brows jerked a bit as he pondered the question. He chewed on his cheek, then looked at his grandfather skeptically, then took a deep breath and sucked down a long and hearty draft of the drink. With a laugh so full and flush with joy he couldn't believe himself, he proclaimed his gilded answer:

"I am a _monster! _I-I mean a _monstrously _good flutist!"

Oh, he loved himself to death.

* * *

**~N~**

**Happy Halloween! (And a very beaky birthday to Rod!) Pumpkin toast for reviewers and anyone who can tell me what "Stand up, be brave, hold on" is from, (or any of the other references.) **

**And seriously. Learn to love yourself, reader midude._ But don't let the jaded old wizard talk you into cursing your nemesis! There are even more constructive ways to explore your purpose..._**

**Next episode: A man caught between his destiny and his heart...**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net the 26th of October 1043. Reposters WILL taste the wrath of Gilbert's potential. **


	6. 1:6 Un Destino Noioso

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**6\. Un Destino Noioso**

**A moment of reflection in the life of a man caught between his destiny and his heart**

* * *

No one talks enough about a father's love for his child.

The mamma is always the best caregiver, with lots of beauty and grace. She bundles up the baby and cuddles him to her bosom to kiss his sweet little head. I watched your mamma do this the day you were born. She was pale and exhausted and still breathing deeply from the strain, but what broke her wasn't the pain, but the first sight of **you.** The tears in her eyes flowed fresh when she took you into her arms for the first time. I was right there beside her, and my own tears weren't embarrassing at all. You were finally here with us. We could look at you and touch you and hear your voice. We were **filled** with a kind of **joy** that no burst of magic could ever imitate.

I'll write what my heart tells me here on these pages. It's mostly to make myself feel better. I almost never want you to read this someday because you will have doubts — doubts about me and about yourself. I **never** want you to feel unloved. I would underline my first paragraph until the paper tears. There's only one thing for you to understand, and it's that my love for you isn't something that can be measured. It's just infinite! We will be connected forever!

It's the **heart** that's fickle and weak. Not the heart that loves others, but the heart that loves yourself. It's a terrible thing sometimes. You feel danger, and you act before you think. You feel selfish making choices that are good for you.

I shouldn't be vague. My stomach hurts when I look at what I've already written. I don't want your stomach to hurt as well.

Here is my message to you. It's not something you should tell anyone else. Don't let your mamma see this, and especially not your grandfather. I'm not asking you to believe it or regard it with any sort of importance. It's only a dark truth that I hold in my own heart. Nothing will convince me it's false.

Our family is **_cursed._**

Your grandfather was born with extraordinary power. Nobody in the family knows where it came from. Maybe he inherited it from a long-lost uncle or an illegitimate great-grandmother. Maybe some deeper hidden darkness in our family made a deal with a creepy magician. Maybe was chosen for it by destiny or something.

I'm not superstitious anymore, and nobody likes to question it anyway. With all these different opinions, it's only right that I should be able to call his power a curse. His "Gift of Music" is supposed to be **dead **in winged fairies like us. Why should he grow up possessing it with no one left to teach him about it? And why is it that he was born nothing but lowly, only on the **fringe **of nobility, and in twenty years call himself almost royalty? Why does magical power equal popularity? Why can he act so carefree and self-righteous all the time without realizing maybe he was just born lucky?

He married your grandmother young, and they didn't love each other at first. She was only a suitor, groomed by both their parents for her power so she could maybe preserve and pass on his. Behind closed doors, she was only a pretty face to him, and with open doors, your grandfather's pleasures were synonymous with his name.

_Roma. _

Maybe sometimes I think he doesn't love me. Maybe sometimes I think I was created instead of born. But now you see why this is such a bad way to think. I _know _he does love me, yet if you could see me right now, you'd cry. I'm sitting along the frozen bank of a creek, with the cuffs of my trousers cold and wet, in a country far far away from you and your mamma. Only moonlight gives me the power to write what I feel. I like the moonlight. I like light. I'm scared something will come out of the shadows to punish me for running away again.

Please don't hate your grandfather. He loves your grandmother now, and he was never unkind to me. At least, not until I got a little older. One spring day, that smile of his turned into some kind of scary smirk. He sat me down in my room and told me about my **destiny**.

"You are the Heir to Allegria's Legacy," he told me. "Within you is the magic of all your ancestors. You can change the world with your _voice._"

I felt proud of that. I had potential, and I'd already begun working for it in my first year under the wings of the enchantress Bibbi Barbalosa at Straffino. I could already sing water vapor into storm clouds. I could even sing grapes into wine.

Then your grandfather told me I needed to find a **suitor.**

"We don't know if the power is hereditary," he said. "But what worked with me might work for you. You don't have to marry right away. You're still in school, but I've invited several of the most powerful gentlemen and their daughters to meet you at Roma Villa next week. I want you to choose one."

I told him that way of thinking was much too traditional. I told him it was treating me like a **lady**. I asked him if he loved my mamma when he first met her. He blushed and said that of course he did. (Probably as much as the others.)

I didn't like any of the suitors when they came. They were all very beautiful, but they weren't showing me their real selves. Each showed me what she was best at. One could make gorgeous, rainbow-colored balloons out of water. Another could enchant animals to serve her. Yet another could turn the whole receiving room into a crystal cave of ice, with sparkling snow frosting the ceiling and furniture.

Your grandfather nudged me and said, "Tell the girls about your magic."

My body started shaking. My wings were weak. I felt my face grow hot, like I was in a pot of boiling water. Tell the girls about my magic? The girls _know _my magic! The girls can _see _my magic all around in the richness of the room and in the man standing next to me! Show the girls again, like I'm a little kid and my magic is valued at the same level as my name?

That was the **first **time my heart reacted before my mind. Without saying anything, I left the room. I left Roma Villa. I left Allegria.

I don't know why I was so embarrassed, but my wings kept fluttering. I flew over the mountains to Folkerburg, where magic is called a "strange novelty," and fairies are thought of as minor gods. Humans are so pitiful, really. If I played the soprano sax, I'd tell them I was a god, but sadly, I moved the pianoforte to enlightenment instead.

I stayed there for the whole summer, making money by getting gigs and tutoring children in music. It was hard learning the language at first, but I'm gifted with sounds. Not once did I think of your grandfather, and not once did he write to me. Your grandmother was kinder and sent me news, but even she thought I was rude.

It was July of that year when I met the craziest family — the **_Edelsteins of Edelweiss._** They had a young son called Roderish who was super talented in music! His mother insisted I tutor him, as who could be better? I had wings on my back and a voice that could charm a cello into playing itself. My head was spinning from her insistence, but I didn't protest. It was money, after all.

Roderish was wary of me at first, like all the human children I met. I caught him staring at my ears and my waist, ("You're so **skinny!" **he said,) and he kept wanting to touch me. He** adored** hugs. I think the only thing he liked more than hugs was my singing. He wasn't cute, but I got attached to him anyway.

I'll never take any credit for his talents. He was always a prodigy, and I'll only say I helped him unlock his potential. By the end of that summer, he was not only playing hard harpsichord pieces, but composing his own. My only complaint was that he was too stiff and never played with emotion. But he was so eager to learn, and he was so **weird **to me. Once or twice I could hear a spark not unlike magic spring from his fingers as he played.

I returned to Allegria in the autumn for my second year of schooling. Your grandfather brought up the suitors only once over that year, but with my prodigal glory, both your grandparents didn't say much. We were on cold terms that year, especially with my powers growing and changing so fast. By the end of my second year, I could conduct a whole player-less orchestra with my eyes closed. I also strengthened my powers of empathy in order to better read the people around me.

So I went to Folkerburg in the summer again, only returning home once when your grandfather insisted. I began to like the Edelsteins more and more. It wasn't only their human culture that amused me, but their personalities too. Ulrish, the head of the house, was always quick to slight me as a "sprite" in his bumbling, grumpy way. His wife, Gertruda, kept asking me weird questions to the point where they were kind of rude. But she was funny anyway.

Their two older children didn't seem to like me much. Once Johannes told me he'd "outgrown fairies." I didn't really get it, but for some reason Gertruda smacked him. I started to really feel at home at Edelweiss, like my thin body and wings didn't make me strange.

My first kiss was with the youngest maid, Kristina.

I was scared at that time, too. The end of that summer made it clear. I'd always known Ulrish was hard on his son for being so frail and uninterested in business. But Kristina told me Roddy was deeply affected by his attitude. She said Roddy had begun to think less of his father and see **me** as his role model instead! I didn't like this because I was only at Edelweiss in the summer and hardly old enough to know what a child wants, but then Rod told me himself what was going on in his heart. He was scared to death of a changeling that had tried to steal his life during that summer, and he feared his father hated me and would send me away.

Ulrish never hated me. I don't know where Roddy got that idea. But I did understand his fear of the changeling. And I did begin to understand why he liked hugs so much.

Because he was never allowed to be a child.

I begged him to see himself as a child. I told him his music would improve if he let loose and put some **emotion **and **life **into it! But Roddy wanted to be like his father and see things in black and white, and this wasn't good for him. Eventually, he loosened up a bit and I heard more and more sparks in his music, but he was still holding back, and though I feared becoming a second father, some part of my heart knew he was broken and needed a place to put his trust.

I graduated from Straffino more powerful than your grandfather was at my age. I adorned my wings with crystals and took the Oath to protect and serve all of nature would it need my aid. Your grandfather started getting testy again. A day after my graduation, he brought the suitors back and forbade me from leaving Roma Villa. I chose none of them. We argued. Our angry voices caused an earthquake, and he refused to help me restore the landscape. The next day I flew to Folkerburg — to my other, better home. I wooed Kristina just to taste your grandfather's disgust. It wasn't even love. It was revenge, and it was irrational. Never do this. Never even kiss someone unless you really really love her.

Which I suppose brings me to the happiest and saddest part — the part that really concerns why my hands are shaking from cold right now. I'm sor**r**y if you can't read past this point. My fi**ngers** are so numb and my wings are beginning to ache. I have to write this down or I'll never slee**p.**

Your mamma was not as pretty as **the su**itors. She couldn't afford Straffino and her magic wasn't impressive enough for a school like that to care, but when I met her, and we both started laughing, something felt so so **right** to me. Everything about her was perfe**ct. She w**asn't looking for power. She had a gentler way of trapping me in.

Hidden roma**nces are**n't like the novels. They're so stressful! I told myself I wasn't afraid of my reputation dying, but I was. I thought your grandparents were watching me all the time. I thought they knew from the beginning, but then thought they were clueless, but then thought they were toying with me. The sec**ret **meetings your mamma and I had were filled with stress as much as love. She told me she thought her own parents would get mad at **her for wo**oing the 'Patron of Light," like I was a god or something_. _

We didn't try to hide your mamma's humble birth and weak magic from your grandparents. "**This is Valentina Vargas,"** I told them, "and I **love** her. I love her so so much, and I want to marry her, and I want us to be happy, and I want _you _to be happy because we're happy because we're really, really in love, and it's going to last forever."

Your mamma smiled. She wasn't afraid.

My rambling nature annoyed your grandfather, however.

"Is she rich?"

"No," I said.

"Is she powerful? Does she have at least one music caster in her recent bloodline?"

**"****Gigi's not a dog," your mamma said, "and neither am I." **

Nevertheless, we eloped! That was fun, and terrifying, but mostly fun! I took her to Folkerburg, then back to her homeland of Catán, then to Venece, Tor, Roma, Napor, and all the most magical places I knew before we returned to Roma Villa and she became a part of the family whether your grandfather liked it or not Your grandmother liked her very much!

There. Got that part done. The happy part. Now. Now. **N**ow is **— -** —-

you were born this year in the springtime. A healthy, handsome boy. I never left you for the first weeks of your life. I watched your antennae crinkle up and fall from your forehead. I watched the tight, wet ball of your wings unfold and swell into the same curly-tipped shapes as my own. I noted how you looked just like your mamma, from your dark hair to the bit of green glitter starting to bleed into your transparent wings. You were beautiful, and you were **ours. **

**Even if —_—_— **

You were healthy. You had magic inside you. There was no reason to be upset. I'm not upset now. Your mamma isn't upset. We don't regret anything. WE love you the way you are. Even if in seven months of your life, you haven't shown a single spark.

Even if you never cast a single spell.

Your grandfather came to me again last week.

"Your son has no magic," he said. I used my powers of empathy to read him. He wasn't angry. He was numb, kind of. He was hiding from me.

"He does," I said. "He has **very **powerful magic flowing through him. If he didn't, he would've died at birth."

"He hasn't shown anything. No miracles. No spells. When you were a week old, you cooed and made a flute float."

"He's a late bloomer," I said. "Lots of powerful people are."

"Still, his magic sparks in his chest, not his throat. He did not inherit the Gift. I want you to use the family wishing amulet and correct this immediately. And while you're at it, he doesn't need both surnames. His father is Allegrian. One is enough."

N**ow, if you'**re reading this, I really don't know what to say. Maybe we can talk about it together, or maybe I'm not even there to talk to you. But I told your grandfather no. I said wishing you inherited my powers might hurt you, or it might even hurt me. I said the family wishing amulet is never for selfish wishes. I said you were perfect the way you were and **are. **You have both of our names because you are not just me, but your mamma too. But if you think I should've acted different, I'll listen.

I know your grandfather is getting better. As we talked, his mask slipped, and I could **hear **his emotions struggling and fighting each other inside him. I know it **hurt **him to ask me that, because the truth is, he's so so happy to have you and your mamma and me in his life but his pride is killing him and he can't find a way to say it without feeling bad.

But my heart shattered into a thousand pieces, and before I knew it, my wings were carrying me into the freezing wind. I was in Folkeburg only a few days later.

Just when I got the letter from your mamma.

It's not your fault. Don't ever think it's your fault. You were hurt the most by this. Your mamma wrote you screamed when the rotten fruit spla ttered on your fa**ce.** She said you didn't stop crying until she got home and cleaned the both of you up. She put you to bed and wrote down every angry thought that came into her head, like I'm doing now.

I left her vulnerable. I was too afraid to face the truth. Maybe we aren't meant for each other. Maybe I re**ally a**m a god in Allegria. Maybe I'm meant to fulfill some stupid prophecy or save the whole world. In her grief, she asked me why I keep running from my destiny. She asked me why I run from even a mockery of it. I call a weak woman and a powerless son my family but I couldn't protect them from the harassment and l**eft them behind **when they needed me **most._**

But it's **not **because I don't love you. It's because there's so much pressure. I don't want to be a vessel or a legacy or "**Allegr**ia's **Son.**" I want to be recognized for something I can actually **control.** I want a **DULL** destiny because to be honest, I don't think this is what being a god is supposed to feel like.

Being away from home isn't even helping. I got to Edelweiss tonight and was shocked. The whole estate was surrounded by this thick cloud of bad emotions. I can't see emotions when I sense them. It's more like I hear them and paint a picture in my mind. This cloud was violet poison. I was instantly beguiled by the most beautiful and so so awful piano-playing I'd ever heard. It was better than Bibbi Barbalosa's by a number I can't even count to. It was so haunting and eerie and full of so many snarled feelings that it overwhelmed my senses the moment it struck me.

I felt **drunk. **

Gertruda invited me in and gave me a cup of coffee. Her husband and a few of his friends were at the other end of the table playing with what they said were "imp's fingers."

"As long as they torture those creatures outside, I'm fine with it," Gertruda told me.

"Is that Roderish playing the piano?" I asked.

She looked at me weird and said, "He only plays that horrendous song over and over again. It's his new nervous habit. I ask him why, and he doesn't say anything. Gianfranco, the thing scared him speechless!"

I asked her what "thing," and she said another changeling had come and frightened him nearly to death, but he refused to talk about it and the more she asked the less he'd speak at all. He was caught in his own world far too much, to the point where he'd play his pianoforte and gaze glassy-eyed at nothing.

The pieces of my heart are all but dust now. I've failed to protect both of my families. And now not just my heart, but my whole body is numb. I might write more tomorrow. Right now I'm so torn. I want to return to you, but Roddy is sick. When I saw him, he didn't seem to recognize me. When I reached out to hug him, he backed away in fear. When I sang, he covered his ears.

Your mamma would hate me for staying, but I don't know what to do. Even a god doesn't know what to do sometimes. My heart is too big, and my courage is too small, but for now, Lovino Vargas Roma, **P**LE**ASE** know you will forever be my bloom.

**Love,  
****Papà**

* * *

Gianfranco Roma exhaled as he loosened his neckerchief. His breath puffed into a cloud of whitish mist in the vast black curtain of the night. He reviewed his work — ink smears, misspellings, wet spots and all — before tucking the dying pen into his breast pocket and groaning as he arched his back.

A rustling in the bushes earned a shrill squeak from the fairy. His fingers curled, and he nearly dropped the several pages into the gurgling black creek below. He clutched the letter to his chest. In the deep darkness from a cloud now covering the moon, he failed to notice how the sheen of his wings had wilted and paled. The stardust in his eyes had dimmed to the dull glow of cinders, and the pasty tracks of tears were frozen to his cheeks.

"Gigi," said a small voice.

Gigi's heart relaxed. He knew that weak voice all too well. He leaned back on the ball of his right hand and looked over his shoulder to see the ghostly form of Roderich pushing himself through the brambles. The boy wore neither coat nor shoes. His rich, soft hair was tangled at the ends, and splotches of deep violet, like paint streaks, were spread under his eyes.

"Roddy?"

A frail hand finally emerged from the twigs, and Roderich, thin and wretched, pushed through to plop himself down next to his tutor on the riverbank. Instantly, the boy's head was pressed hard into the fairy's lap, and he was shaking, not just with cold, but with a torrent of muffled sobs. Gigi could hardly fix his position. Roderich's fingers were digging hard into his legs, and he had to fold and stuff the papers into his inner coat pocket before he could squeeze his student's shoulder in support.

These behaviors were so surreal. Gigi had never seen Roderich show such distress, much less cry in his presence. He always seemed like the child who _should _cry, who _should _whine and whinge himself into an ugly fit, but the fits had never come. At least, not until now.

At least not to Gigi.

"I'd ask how you found me all the way out here, but it's not important right now."

Roderich coughed. He shuddered and pushed himself up so he could reach around Gigi's middle and hang like a dejected monkey. His sniffling grew so wild that he sneezed all over the fairy's comforting hands.

"Em, I'm… I'm so so sorry I wasn't here when… _it_ happened. I want to be here for you, but my family—"

"I don't care. You're here now. You saved me. I'm not trapped in the song anymore."

"Trapped?"

"I wanted to make sense of my feelings, so I started playing what I felt. My song kept reminding me of the night he came back, but it was the only thing that could clear my head. It must have been cursed. I just kept playing it until my fingers hurt and my mama tore me from the bench. Then I dreamed he came back again. He has come back at least three times to taunt and curse me. Or maybe I dreamed it all."

"And your mamma said you couldn't speak about this! Did I really break some dark spell on you?"

"I don't know how to speak to her. She doesn't understand magic. She thinks _he's _dead. My father tried spells to get rid of the magic inside me, but none of them worked. And you just… you broke the routine. I woke up and realized I should come find you. Being in the house maddens me, and your wings _shine _in the dark_. _I just looked for your shine until I found you here."

"Whose magic is inside you?"

"I can't tell you. All I can s-say is it's _his." _

"What did _he_ do?"

"He... all I can remember is he cursed my hand! He… cursed my…"

For a while he was silent, and then he melted into Gigi's lap again, trembling and whimpering and this time receiving the hug when it came.

"I understand everything you taught me now. Music is the only way I can show what's going on inside me. No one will listen to words."

"Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"No… no, I can't talk about it. He forbade me. But at least you know about magic. Even if you weren't magical, I'd like you being here. Sometimes... I wish on stars that you were _human_ so you could be my brother."

The lips parted. The eyes went wide. The wings twitched, then went stiff. A chill wind rushed past Gigi's ears, and as he was wont to dwell on life's romantic lures, he entertained the thought that in the wind there was a voice that froze his bones and shook his very soul to the core.

**_"_****_You will grant him his destiny under the moon." _**

Gigi wriggled as a pocket of warmth rose up from the riverbed again. So he'd fulfilled a prophecy after all. He'd become Roderich's bronze idol. And how he was being coaxed down to mundane earth.

"I understand that you admire me, but it's not nice to wish I was something else. I like the way I am."

"I know. I just want you to stay."

"Roddy, will you go back and get ready for bed if I come with you? I'll sing you a lullaby that's guaranteed to make all your dreams sweet."

Roderich gave a slow, sniffly nod.

"Good. Take my hand. You're going to be fine. I'm very proud of you. I'll, em, I'll try to stay for a little while, if that's what you want."

_At least I wrote the letter, _he then thought to himself. _Better to have those feelings out of the way. I'll write the painful one to Tina tomorrow. Eh! Almost forgot! I didn't just come out here sad! _

One hand was seized by Roderich's digging fingers, but the other was free to rummage in pockets until Gigi found what he was looking for. From his trousers, he drew out a long, wooden wand, stained a dark shade of mahogany. Winding up its shaft was a glittering golden laurel branch, and etched into its base was the four-letter name Gigi so often loved to love, loved to pity, and loved to hate. With a smirk, he raised his hand and tossed it over his shoulder.

It landed with a _splish_ in the creek.

* * *

**Not necessarily a huge part of the series, but this episode has much significance in defining more family dynamics and setting up important future conflicts. If you liked this episode, I'd recommend you go read my story "Grape Leaves." It'll be a tear-jerker after this one, but it's sweet at the end.**

**Fun fact: Our Gigi is named after Gigi D'Agostino and Gianfranco Randone. Gianfranco is a very common, run-of-the-mill name, while "Franco" can mean "free man." **

**Next episode: The counter-curse is ****_what!?_**** Gilbert encounters a changeling's challenge!**

**Published by Syntax-N November 9th, 2019. Reposters shall be mAdDENeD! **


	7. 1:7 True Love's Poultice

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**7\. True Love's Poultice**

**Growing up is a pain in the neck — especially when Gilbert's got a nasty curse cutting his freedom short! With the cure being something a changeling can only dream of, will this be the end for our budding villain? **

***M**

* * *

_12 November  
__Dear Diary,  
__I am too awesome to need someone else petting me and telling me how awesome I am. I am so awesome that even when I tell myself I am awesome, my body is too full of awesomeness to accept any more awesomeness, and I can't even feel it._

Frosty latices crept over the stones of Piyo Tower, but Gilbert was warm and safe in Fritz's wizard lair beneath the first floor. Only a trap door led to this hidden room of musty magic. In the center of the floor was a round depression filled with ash and a grate for setting a cauldron upon. Ancient, dusty bookshelves crammed with tomes of terror lined the walls. On the right side of the room was a long counter that sat above a compartment with several cabinet doors on the outside.

And just within this compartment, Gilbert was reflecting on his day. His eyes sparkled with giddiness despite the searing pain of his back and the greasy length of his hair and the foul smell of his breath. The door nearest his hiding spot was cracked to let in light from the candles burning about the room.

He was so absorbed, he failed to notice Fritz slamming down the steps of the trap door and stomping into the darkness. He dumped a series of ink-smeared documents onto the counter, and with no doubts as to where his charge could be, wrenched open the cupboard to let Gilbert spill out like a startled pigeon.

"No need to hide your diary, boy."

"It's private!"

"You're not writing earth-shattering secrets. I can hear you reading out loud. Now get up and look at this. I had to spend four hours as a cat under Roderich's bed to get it. How many times have you visited that kid in the last few weeks, anyway?"

_"Eight _times! I'm figuring out what makes him writhe the most!"

"He won't writhe at all if it becomes a routine. You have to keep him guessing. And for fuck's sake, keep your beak out of my Black Books. They have spells that would incinerate Roderich and then incinerate _you _just for playing the first note."

Gilbert wasn't listening. His right hand had crossed up over the left side of his chest and under the collar of his shirt. He kneaded a series of firm, swollen gnarls that began as a single knotted muscle above the shoulder blade and traveled down his back in a lumpy stripe. He winced at the tender touch, then flexed his shoulder and heard the biggest knot give a _snap_ not unlike a dry twig_._

"Fritz, the infection's getting worse. I can't sleep my muscles hurt so bad!"

"That's because they're turning to wood, but you shouldn't be focused on that. I had to be a _maid _for an hour and wash all of Roddy's underwear before I got a glimpse of that Black Study upstairs. I think the boy patches his own pants when they get holes. I know you two have history, but if I were your age, I'd curse him just for fun."

"Now, now. You shouldn't hurt someone unless you hate him."

Fritz rolled his eyes and returned to turning over the documents. _"Projekt Tarzenia. _That's what I've been after. Look at this list of dates I managed to pilfer from Ulrich's desk. Seven of them, from the fourth of July to the fourth of November this year. Each date has a name attached to it. 'Joseph, Hans and Wilhelm, Hermann, Hermann, Hermann' — Hermann is always impossible to kill — and the last is one 'Henry Kirkland.' The dates match up with all my evidence. These men are dead."

Gilbert explored the gnarls once more. They bulged beneath the canvas of his skin in unnatural little whorls of twisted flesh. When he shrugged, every loose muscle in his back chafed against them and ached.

"These weren't mere executions. It appears Ulrich and his cronies have been murdering poor changelings to experiment on them. Look here! Ulrich wrote three were 'affected' before dying. Affected by what!? What is _Projekt Tarzenia!?" _

"Hey, did you say my muscles are turning to wood!?"

"Yes, you're turning into a tree."

"A _tree!?" _

Gilbert tugged off his shirt and turned so Fritz could see. The knots visibly bulged from his back. They were pigmented with a brownish bruise that was darkest at the center and bled off into the surrounding pale skin.

Fritz nodded grimly. "I know this curse. Before long, the infection will start to spread throughout your body. Your joints will deteriorate, and your muscles will continue to harden and twist just like this until you're so stiff you can't even move."

Gilbert stamped his feet and popped Fritz in the shoulder. "What the fuck!? You're just letting this happen to me!?"

"The cure is impossible."

"Cure!? Tell me now!"

Fritz glared at the documents. "What are you doing, Edelstein? How did you kill them, and why?"

"Fritz! I don't want to be a tree!"

"Just what are you planning?"

"Fritz! Friiiiitz!" Gilbert whined. Something in his back _snapped _and stiffened, and his jaw was wrenched open in agony. He grasped his mentor around the middle and squeezed.

"Now, knowing his proficiency in curses is quite asinine…"

"Fritzy!"

Fritz grabbed Gilbert by the ears and pulled until he shrieked. "All right, fine, you little elf-rat! The cure is true love's kiss! It's irony, see? _No one _would want to kiss an ugly creature like you. Ulrich wanted you to suffer."

Gilbert's blood ran cold. His skin prickled and froze, and before he knew it, a panicked moan tore through his lips and hot tears spilled from his eyes.

"No! No! You're shitting me! That's not true! I don't _want _to die!"

"I didn't say that."

"At least tell me how long I have!"

"With those gnarls, the infection has already rooted deep in your body. I can't say how long you have, but I can tell you the lonelier you feel, the quicker you'll change. Of course, if you _do _find your true love—"

Gilbert snatched up his diary and was gone.

* * *

_14 November  
__Dear Diary,  
__Love is stupid. Love is useless. Love is meaningless.  
__I'm making this a reference point! If I ever start acting like a tree, I have to look here! Right HERE: GILBERT, YOU ARE SO AWESOME YOU DON'T NEED ANYONE! TRUE LOVE'S KISS? HAHA! SCREW THAT! YOU LOVE YOURSELF! _

Gilbert shivered in the frosty air. He sat on the slippery front steps of Piyo Tower with trembling hands and reddened cheeks. His heart felt heavy despite the triumphs of his mad scribbling.

It was dawn, and all around him, his consort the forest was reluctantly rousing from sleep. The remaining birds twittered, and the squirrels chitter-chatted as they hopped from tree to tree and acorn to acorn. Gilbert watched one chubby squirrel chase another up a trunk before hopping onto her and…

"Ach, what is _wrong _with me!? I shouldn't be jealous of a squirrel!"

The left side of his back gave an audible _creak_. His fingers dug into the gnarls instantly. Angry red blisters had formed over the surface of the scaly skin, which was beginning to flake and peel away. He knocked his knuckles against the biggest knot to find he couldn't feel it at all.

It had fully turned to wood.

The door opened behind him. "Moved from denial into depression?" Fritz yawned.

"Just die, old man."

"Right then, hermit."

"Who said I was a hermit? I just don't have time for companionship."

"You spent the summer moping about your rapid-onset genus denial."

"I was hurting!"

"As much as a changeling with initiative," Fritz chuckled. "Even if you don't _want _love, you might find it someday. I found it, and I'm uglier than you."

"I don't like _boys,_ Fritz. And I don't like _girls _either. They look super dumb, human or otherwise! No! I don't like anyone! The curse is cheating me! It's unfair!"

"Come now. You like pumpkins. So round and girthy—"

"If you mention that fucking pumpkin one more time, I will incinerate Roderich and then myself and then _you."_

Fritz leaned against the tower and looked with deep, pale eyes to the brightening east. "Everybody's looking for something. You can say nothing excites you, but I know you're neither an ass nor a child."

"Ach, come on! It's like you said! Even if I did… _love _someone, I'm too ugly for anyone to love me back. An undead playwright would sooner find his soulmate. And have six children, too!"

"If there weren't someone out there to love you unconditionally, you wouldn't have leaves in your hair."

Gilbert grumbled and wrung his spidery hands. "Then there's only one solution!"

He puckered as wetly as he could and pecked the palm of his left hand, then reached back to smear it over the gnarl of wood above his shoulder blade. The numbness lessened a bit, and the gnarl gave a promising _crack. _

"Maybe I was wrong," said Fritz.

"You are, old man. Love can be abstract these days. You can define it however you want as long as it does its job. Now, I'm going to go pilfer my true love ten black currant cakes and twenty bottles of cream. And _ach! _Owa! What the _heck!?"_

He fearfully lifted his shirt to find the horrible bruise creeping over his ribs. He rapped his knuckles over the new infection, and the skin smarted when it was pinched between wood and bone.

"You're going to need a lot of self-love to fix that," Fritz laughed.

"Then I'll love myself to death!" Gilbert spat as he scampered off into the forest, cursing and waving every obscene gesture back toward his mentor. "I won't be a tree! I'll just be awesome Gilbert! Right, little bird?"

The tit in question popped its head out of a nest, and startled by Gilbert's appearance, flew off in a flurry of tiny wingbeats. When its claws left the woven straw, a wrinkled leaf of paper floated down to land before him. He picked it up and read:

**_7 November  
_****_To whomever this finds its way to-  
_**

**_I hope this small paper airplane was able to reach someone on the autumn winds. In the case that you have, it is that time of the year when I must make an escape to my cabin. My brothers have been increasingly rowdy in anticipation for the fall hunt. I always anticipate the hunt but not as much as they do._**

**_Have you enjoyed the fall colors? They always seem to last longer in this fair stretch of the woods. If you should happen to stubble upon this letter, hopefully it hasn't gone too far, and you are looking for a friend you can find me near Hawkfrost Hill. If you stand on the top and face east, my cabin is down near the edge of the valley. I would love to write all the more but I must conserve paper for my herb and animal studies. Farewell and the happiest of trails._**

**_-Keeper of the East Branch_**

"East Branch? Is that even in Rhein Valley? Where did that little birdy get this?" Gilbert wondered.

That night, out of the strangest curiosity, he lit a candle and scrawled out a reply in the cleanest and most rudimentary scrawl he could pen with such an infinite mind.

**_14 November_**

**_Hello East Branch Keeper Thingy. What country are you from? I'm from Rhein Valley. I suppose you could find that if you know where the Rhein River is. The fall colors really are pretty this year. Pretty like a little bird. _**

**_I don't need any friends right now. _**

**_But if you could tell me anything about loving myself, that would be very nice. _**

* * *

_18 November,  
__Dear Diary,  
__I had an awesome day! I went for a walk! I took a bath in that tub Fritz stole! I ate bread and cake 'til I actually had a belly fold! It's gone already. :( I read about some curses that will knock Roderich's silly little stockings off!  
__I AM AWESOME! _

_22 November,  
__Dear Diary,  
__Wow, loving myself has turned out to be quite the adventure! Every morning, I stretch my joints so they don't get stiff, and then I lie down and try to connect with my fairy instinct and communicate with nature! When I get the hang of it, it's like my mind shuts off and I'm just another part of the wild! I'm not saying it's the best feeling in the world, but it's very exciting while it lasts. _

_23 November  
__I to_**_ok _**_two naps today. I'm still tired. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know I'm awesome, but I disg_**_ui_**_sed myself and went into to_**_w_**_n to steal rolls and cream, and the_**_n_**_ I saw these two humans sitting on a bench. They had their arms around each other, and they looked so happy.  
_**_W_**_hy can_**_'_**_t I have th_**_at_**_? _

_24 November,  
__Dear Diary,  
__It's been a month since Ulrich cursed me. I can't feel half my back anymore, and I keep getting this gross feeling in my chest like something pulpy is in there.  
__I'm n_**_ot — - _**_I'm not ugly, right? It's my nature to put on a disguise, but for some reason, that just seems _**_wrong _**_in a quest for love. Every time I see that "Wilhelm" shape Fritz helped me create in the mirror, I want to break his perfect nose. _

Groaning, Gilbert shut his diary. He rolled onto his side again and cuddled his pillow close, burying his nose into the goose feather plushness. He contemplated staying in bed for another hour, but realized there was a new pain in his legs and finally submitted to the sun.

He stumbled out of bed and fell flat on his face. Cold nausea swirled in his throat. With a quick puff to the strings of hair draped over his eyes, he limped to the mirror and assessed whatever could be wrong _this _time.

"Well, that's different."

His ribs were not just ridges, but _cords _in his chest. He swept long-fingered hands over the curves of his middle and then looked down at his trousers. Below the cuffs was a full six inches of marbled skin that ended in stiff ankles and tingly feet.

He stretched, and his back _cracked _in several new places. He poked his shrunken stomach to find the muscles beneath screaming like they had been torn. A stab of hunger bubbled up within.

"Well, shit. I'm growing again."

After cursing every new body ache and failing to operate longer, skinnier legs, he stumbled down to the first floor to Piyo Tower, where a tit was hopping and chirping on the table. Gilbert popped open a bottle of cream and chugged it before looking at the note the bird had brought him.

"A reply from that foreigner?" He belched.

**_20 November _**

**_Well hello dear Stranger. I myself am from the country of Petraorszàg. It's quite unfortunate that you're not looking for friends at the moment. I can tell you two good pieces of knowledge that might help you come to love yourself a little bit more. The first is this, no matter how hard you try to please anybody, or any one body with the kind of person you are that just isn't going to happen. It's merely impossible to perform such a task. The second nugget of wisdom I have for you is that you must come to accept that you are going to be different and unique in your own special way. There's never going to be anybody else like you nor should there ever be anybody else quite like you because that is what makes you, you dear stranger. So if you can take these two things to heart i think you may find that loving yourself comes a little bit easier. I hope this helps. You may keep in tough if you wish._**

"He's not a good speller," Gilbert grumbled with cream dribbling down his chin. He wiped extra sleep out of his eyes and glanced to the bird-shaped clock he'd begged Fritz to steal for him. It was already noon. He scowled and fetched a piece of paper.

"Something to do. Think you can deliver another one for me?"

An affirmative peep.

"Then take this and tell our friend… mmh, what do I call him? Karl sounds about right. Tell Karl to shove it."

**_24 November_**

**_Dear Stranger, _**

**_Thanks for the reply. You don't even live in the Confederation? What's it like in your country? Do you have magic and stuff? What am I saying? That's everywhere. I mean, I'm even— I'm a— _**

**_Anyway, thanks for the advice, but the trouble is, I'm so unique and special, (and yes I do know just how special I am,) that it gets harder and harder to see my self-worth, much less what I mean to others. I don't fit in. I don't have anything about me that makes me similar to the people around me. _**

**_Fine, I'll tell you. I'm a— _**

He crossed out _pancar, sprite _and _nymph _before bravely penning _imp _and crossing that out, too.

**_I'm a dryad. What about you? _**

* * *

"Roderich, how did your papa get your mama to like him?" Gilbert asked as he lay himself back on Roderich's bed, flute between his pointed teeth and one leg casually crossed over the other. He squirmed when he felt that pulpy feeling sink down through his chest and into his abdomen. The roots growing in his belly had been particularly irritable as of late.

His victim could say nothing, for he was preoccupied with trying to claw his way to the bedroom door, screaming with a voice Gilbert had magically muted and floundering with muscles Gilbert had magically weighted. A host of leaves was spilling out from under his nightshirt, and his dark hair was thinning and splitting into blades of grass.

"I guess I shouldn't ask you. You're only the hateful spawn eating up their finances! It's a given no one wants me, but you're _human _and undesirable on all fronts! Just wait until that _schnoz _shoots out of your skull!

Roderich stopped floundering for the moment. With an immense effort, he turned himself over so Gilbert couldn't see the shrubbery of his back. His blue eyes were wintry in their fury, but fear held him back from retribution.

"You know, green doesn't look good on you. Maybe purple? At least royal blue for your regal ass. Ach, Fritz's flowery stuff is getting boring for my tastes. I liked it better when I cursed your hand and it started turning wing-y. Maybe I should try some bird curses!"

"I will _not _have you break me!" The boy burst, forcing through the enchantment in Gilbert's distraction.

"Shut those wormy lips! I've decided! I think I'll start by lengthening those noodles you call fingers! Hm?"

A happy chirp came from the window.

"Oi! Birdy! Is that from Karl? Epic! We just got a letter~"

**_29 November _**

**_Greeting Stranger,_**

**_It's a most wonderful place to live. We have many varieties of trees, I find that Frosty Pines are my favorite species. The wildlife is abundant, if you need a good animal friend I'm sure you could search hard enough for one that knows how to speak. I myself have befriended a sorrel spot thrown Pegasus named Marshall. He is very particular equine and is quite partial to only me._**

**_Now back to our debacle from the last letter. I strongly urge you to pull yourself worth from within. Do others treat you differently? Are they mean to you? I know you have a place and important role to fill. You just have to keep searching and don't give up. Oh, and to answer your question, I'm just a plain old human being. But there's nothing wrong with that now is there. _**

**_Please write again soon. I really like your company. _**

**_-KEB_**

**_29 November _**

**_Hi! It's me again. You know, it really is nice to have someone to talk to. Like a forest buddy! Not trying to be schnozzy or anything. I always think dryads are schnozzy. You know what I mean? I'm totally the opposite. Nothing but awesome here. _**

**_Hey, forget speaking animals! I can talk to birds! They do whatever I say! If I'm hungry, they bring me black currants, and if I'm hot, they pin sheets over the windows! I live in a tower, which you might think is odd for a dryad, but it actually serves its purpose to keep the sun off me when I'm not interested in growing any more leaves. It's more painful than you'd think. Which reminds me, you said earlier that you have some plant studies. Do you know how to relieve pain at all? Some kind of potion or poultice? I'm just going through a hard time at the moment. There are gnarls in my back - real wooden ones! _**

**_Let's put it this way. I'm not handsome. In fact, I'm quite ugly. Makes it pretty hard to find love. Not that I want it, but I need it for _****_some reason. It's very confusing. _**

**_Haha, yes. _****_Nothing wrong with that. _**

**_5 December _**

**_Hello, dear stranger._**

**_I hope you don't get too lonely up in your tower and i also hope that the birds keep you company. I'm not sure that i know of anything yet that would relief wooden gnarls. But if you are able to concertante a little bit of juice from poppy seeds that may ease your pain. Just beware of how much you take so you don't accidentally knock yourself cold. My cozy little escape is a little timber cabin. It's got one room with where my kitchen, den, and study are connect. There is a small loft and that is where I sleep. It is spacious enough in its own ways but i usually end up making a mess with all my specimens and studies. Although i could say its organized in my own little way. Outside it where i keep my wash tub. It is elevated so you can put coals underneath for a hot bath. Speaking of which, I wonder if that may be a possible cure to help straighten your knot? I hope you feel better soon._**

**_Looking forward to your reply,_**

**_-KEB_**

**_10 December_**

**_Don't you go calling me lonely too. I get enough crap about that from my old man, and by old man, I mean the surly grumpus who owns the tower I live in. He sleeps upstairs on the third floor, and I sleep on the second. Downstairs is the kitchen and sitting area, and below that is the top-secret wizard stuff room! _**

**_I tried your poppy idea and your bath idea! Each only worked for so long. It's kind of a magical pain I have. The only cure is a kiss! The world has cheated me. I'll never get the kiss, but I'll do whatever I can to poke this knot until it lets me sleep! Maybe a magical plant would help? _**

**_-Forested Friend_**

**_13 December _**

**_Hello my Forested Friend!_**

**_I'm glad that my suggested remedies helped to relieve some pain! I've put a good deal of thought into something else that might work and I remembered a certain magical flower called Asterabus that has healing qualities about it. The only problems are is that it can only be found in the spring (thankfully that will come soon enough) but the other problem is that it requires lululium to activate its healing properties. Do you think there might be anything useful in the top-secret wizard stuff room you wrote me about? I shall have to do some more brain storming. In other good news, my flora and fauna studies have been going quite well. I always enjoy my little escapes. I hope you are finding things to keep yourself busy with as well. I'd love to hear all about it!_**

**_-Your Friend_**

* * *

He'd almost had it.

Gilbert thought of the feeling. _That _feeling. The _embarrassing _one that shattered each bit of seriousness and tore at him like a raptor of spirit. He felt like a fire had been built in his face. He felt like he was wringing out his stomach and tugging at it.

When Gilbert and Fritz returned from the latter's poetry recital, they had a talk. Gilbert argued that he didn't want to be like everyone else — making scenes in public with kisses, being responsible for another's happiness, investing in something that wasn't as _awesome _as the pride of isolation…

But he liked that round-faced, red-headed writer. He _needed _her smile to make him feel appreciated. He needed every voice she could produce and every odd scarf she was wearing. He wanted to sing about her. (Fritz had shut that down immediately.)

His diary entries grew heated. He wrote poems praising the sweet pink of her cheeks and the melody of her voice. For once, he didn't wake up to a new swath of bruises painting his legs or new twigs to pluck from his head.

"Edeline," he would sigh while draped over the couch on the first floor.

"Come get your potatoes, lovebird," Fritz would reply.

Late at night, he cuddled into his pillow and whispered her name, and it made him feel so warm inside. He forgot he was ugly. He forgot he was magic. Edeline was the healing balm. She was his sun in the east and his companion at the foot of the mountain of the gods! Her kiss would do more than cure him. It would bind them together in the tapestry of heaven! He could picture himself in her arms. She kissed his long ears and then nibbled at his blood-drained lips.

But she spoke little. Her letters were pithy and lukewarm, unlike the friendly, informal ones he received from Karl. Karl's endless letters were bound with twine and stowed away in the compartment beneath the counter. Edeline's few were neatly folded and placed beneath his pillow, as if their charms would protect him in his dreams.

_14 April  
__Dear diary,  
__Tonight is my date with Edeline. Fritz is teasing me as usual. He told me he wants to "do me up," whatever that means.  
__More to follow later. _

"You live around here, Wilhelm?" Edeline asked.

Gilbert could feel his heart throbbing faster and faster. Her round face… so symmetrical! How had no one wanted her before!? Everything from her cascade of red ringlets to her sweet little lips was now his! He could kiss her if he wanted. One kiss, and that awful pain swirling in his belly would be gone for good!

Gilbert was not transformed tonight. Rather, to prevent him from rupturing a lung trying to disguise himself, Fritz had employed an ancient piece of fae illusion magic called_ glamour._ Now Gilbert was not only Wilhelm, but a _rich, handsome _Wilhelm, with a slightly shorter nose, a less-pointy jaw, a head of platinum hair swept back over his head in subtle waves, and an outfit of obscene extravagance. The illusion felt so real, he could actually hate the lacy jabot scratching at his neck.

They walked hand-in-hand along the muddy bank of the Rhein. With longer days, the sun was visible longer over the western promontory, but now it had come to set, and a silvery sliver of moon guided them upstream. Gilbert was thankful for the babbling of the river to hide his upset stomach. It seemed the illusion could only conceal so much.

"Yeah, I live up on the west promontory. Of course, that's only my papa's holiday home. Fulchen will always be my true place of residence."

"I want to stay in Müldorf," she said, gazing off into the distance.

"I know that. You've told me before. Em, you want to start looking for those Asterabus flowers? I need them to make a poultice."

Edeline said nothing. She only chewed at her cuticles and watched the river flow silently by.

"Edeline?"

"Sorry, I'm thinking."

"You really don't talk much. I'd appreciate it if you responded quicker. I like to be efficient in all things, and that includes conversation."

"Well, maybe you could understand that I like to consider things deeply before I answer questions."

"It's just a yes or no. Do you want to start looking for flowers? Please? I want to do things with you. We don't see each other often enough, and I really like you."

She looked back at him, somewhat sadly, and then said the one thing that was capable of ruining his night.

"Wilhelm, it's only been a couple dates, and anyway, I can't like you back."

"What do you mean? You don't know me enough to judge me."

"I'm not judging you. Though mine is hidden, I can see the changeling darkness in your eyes. I've only talked with you because you seemed like you needed a friend. But I was never interested in you."

Gilbert's cheeks were lighting up — red, yet truly blue — with humiliation. The river now seemed an excellent place to push her.

"What is it? Is it my kind's reputation? Or can you just imagine my _disgustingness _under this illusion?"

The illusion covered it somewhat, but he could feel the knotted roots resume their churning and squelching. He seized his stomach in pain, gasping at the feeling of sap rising in his throat. The joints of his fingers locked in place.

And then he watched Edeline's red ringlets dry up and split and fade to a pasty gray. Her round face deflated, and her sweet lips melted and cracked. Her red silk capelet fell around her shoulders, wrinkling like a bag as she shrank.

"I admire your courage," she said, "but you know two empty hearts don't fit together, and we'd never be able to have children."

"Th-that doesn't matter!"

"It matters to me," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Wilhelm."

"You... you ugly, selfish, unawesome _hag-imp!" _

"Gilbert! _WATCH OUT!" _

He looked about, but he could hardly recognize the warning before Fritz dove out from the trees and grabbed him around the middle. He pulled Gilbert down among the mud and shrubbery so forcefully that he landed on his stomach and spat out a dried chunk of sap. His mentor's wizened hand flew to clamp over Gilbert's mouth. Fritz's eyes were wild, and his breath was hitched.

Edeline's scream lasted only a few seconds. What followed was a host of human voices filling the air like the barking of dogs.

* * *

_21 Ap… _

_Dear dary,  
__fritZ fouund her name om ulrIch's new liSt_

* * *

"Give it another three pinches of lululium and a Flemeleon's fin," Fritz said, eyeing the recipe with his lips stretched tight.

The wizard's lair was stiflingly hot, but it was better than standing out in the wasteland of May. Every little corner of the room was dyed a bright magenta from the potion's glow.

"Can't," Gilbert grunted. A twig shot out of the tip of his nose, ripping open the scabs and letting sap dribble into his mouth. He plucked it out and threw it under the cauldron. The flames spurted turquoise.

He was a full three feet taller than his mentor. Most of the height came from his legs, which were horribly mismatched in terms of thickness and shape. Dense knots of muscle bulged from his calves and ankles. Ropes of wood snaked under his back and wrapped around his ribs. His lungs were constricted by the prickly branches lengthening within. He was just waiting for his stomach or spleen or something to get a lethal poke. His innards were now grumbling constantly, and _noisily_. They were growing softer, he supposed. On their way to melting into sap.

His skin was a mess. If it wasn't torn or scabbed by the escaping twigs, it was stretching to contain thickening bark. Over time, it had lost even its usual pallor and now trapped his wooden skeleton like a transparent rubber. His fingers were forking into twiggy boughs beyond the shredded meat of his hands, and his toes were looking more and more like squashed roots.

He shuffled on his feet to glare at Fritz with deep emerald eyes.

Fritz did not glare back. He ran his finger up and down the potion recipe before spitting into the cauldron. The liquid bubbled and turned an inky black.

"I'll just root here. Either you can chop me up or let me grow through the floor."

"Mm-hm."

"I won't even be in pain. I just ask that you rub Karl's poultice over me to ease the aches before I die. Tell me Karl was my best friend, and he never hurt me. He only made me feel loved with every one of his letters, and I'll accept that love because he was the only one who gave a shit—"

"Put the lululium in the pot, or it's going to spoil. You should still have some mobility."

Gilbert swiveled, an awful _creak _emitting from his wooden hips_. _He breathed harshly, then reached his branch-y arm up to take a bottle of bluish sand from the top shelf. He dumped some into the potion, and it writhed in its pot.

"You can still find love, you know."

"That's not what you said last week. You said I should stop my shenanigans."

"I said a _break-up _isn't an excuse for you to fuck with Stygian sorcery. You could've killed Roderich with that curse. It took me all night to reverse its effects, and that didn't include muddling his memories. I can't believe you went behind my back and _walked _all the way to Edelweiss—"

"She was my one chance! But you know what she said before they hauled her off. Changelings can't love each other!"

"I thought love was abstract."

"For weirdos, Fritz! For weirdos and schnoz-balls! For everyone else, true love is just… it's beautiful and sensual and it _works!_"

"Yes, but it's not like that level comes easy to anyone. You got the earful last week, so we won't have this argument again. You know better than to take out non-Roderich issues on Roderich."

"Oh, save your breath. He's still alive. The real trouble is I'm out of time. _Ergh!"_

Like the seam of a glove, his left hand split down the side, allowing a festoon of leaves to come spilling out. His guts gave an alarming gurgle as they weakened and fought their own reason for existence. Gilbert coughed. Sap poured from his lips.

"I lied to Karl. I told him I'm a dryad. I was just embarrassed at the time, but now I don't even know. Fritz, I wanted to meet him before I transformed completely. He was so nice to me. What will he think when I stop writing? Will he think I died? He'll be so sad."

Fritz stared emotionlessly into the potion. He added a pinch of salt and a blob of glutter. Then he removed the stacks of letters from under the cabinet and skimmed through them, just as he had every night. Dozens of them, from November to April, all signed by Gilbert's "Karl." Yes, _these _were what he'd hoped for.

"Your Karl's a girl, you know."

"What? No, don't be weird, Fritz. Karl's an awesome dude!"

"Did you ever ask?"

"What kind of _girl_ lives in a cabin in the woods?"

"What kind of _boy _wants to escape a host of brothers, is able to tame a wild Pegasus, and will speak with such concern about a stranger's feelings?"

"Well, I mean—"

"Think about it."

"So Karl's a girl. Still doesn't mean anything."

"Well, that amber blush of yours has to mean something. If gender was the defining factor, would you say you _like _Karl? Even as just a friend? _If _love is abstract…"

The creaking in his body stopped. He ripped his writhing roots from the floor and looked back at Fritz, mouth agape.

Fritz grinned. "How many times have I said this before? Fate _told _me the night I found you _you _are meant for greatness! Obviously that means the moment a little _love curse _is planted in you, she's already working to intervene. Gilbert, I do care about you! If I knew this wasn't going to work out, I'd have mixed a love potion for you the night you were cursed!"

"Then why did you wait so long to tell me?"

"You shouldn't have been so dense. Here. Take the flowers and the potion. You need to get to Petraorszàg."

"B-but I can't transform!"

Fritz gave a devilish smirk.

"Grab that little green globular flask on the very top shelf. It's a porto-potion."

* * *

Just east of the place dubbed by one girl as "Hawkfrost Hill," there was a little timber cabin. It was nameless, but it was a home. Humble, yet warm, it had been built by hand with logs fitted tightly together and stuffed with moss. Day and night, it rested in its grassy clearing amid the hundreds of scattered trees.

Just after sunrise, when the hills cupping the valley were bathed gold and red and gray, and the multitudes of the forest were changed from shadowy fiends to friendly leafy spirits, a disgraceful girl of fourteen marched dutifully down toward the cabin. Behind her trotted her loyal beast, a sorrel spot-thrown horse with ten-foot wings folded at his sides. He nibbled at her hair with his flabby lips, and she gave him a kiss on the nose.

"You want sugar," she said. "I won't say no, but you should have a carrot first."

Her companion gave an indignant whinny.

When they reached the cabin, she let him drink out of a rain barrel while she battled with endless snarls and burrs caught in the curtain of chestnut hair draping down her back. She clenched her teeth as she ripped through a great spidery knot.

"It would be easier if I could master that detangling spell," she grumbled.

And then the tree appeared before her.

It hadn't sprouted from the ground. It hadn't dropped from the sky. It simply _appeared _out of nowhere. Its bark was riddled with twisted gnarls sprouting twigs like the spines of an urchin. Its branches zigged and zagged like spears adorned with the most peculiar leaves. It couldn't be an oak tree, nor a maple, nor any sort of beech she knew. If she had to guess… no, no tree had leaves that were shaped like _birds! _

"Help."

Cautiously, she reached out to touch the tree and found it shuddered at her fingertips. And then she saw the source of the voice. Centered in a great mass of whorls and leaves, almost like a mane, was an indent resembling a mouth and two knots that could've been eyes. A thick, stubby branch worked as a nose in the center.

"Hurts," the tree said in a gurgly voice. "Help. In the hollow. It's me."

"It's you?"

The girl could not fathom the meaning of this until she looked in a hollow crack just between where thick cords of bark resembled ribs. There she found a stalk of Asterabus flowers and a vial of magenta potion.

"Oh…" she started. "Oh, oh, it's _you! _The dryad! I thought dryads lived _inside_ trees! I didn't think they could _turn into_ trees!"

"Help," the tree said again, sap weeping from the corners of its knotted eyes.

"Just wait! I'll help you!"

She entered the cabin to grab a fired clay bowl and a pestle. She ground up the petals of the Asterabus flowers and mixed in the potion, then soaked a cloth in the mixture and brought it outside to the tree.

"This should help you. Where does it hurt?"

But the tree no longer had a face, nor did it have ribs or a hollow where its heart should've been. It didn't shudder when she touched it. It only sighed in the morning breeze.

"He's shy," she told the Pegasus, who was stepping warily around the tree. "Maybe he used too much magic to get here. We can let him rest. After all, he's a very, very special friend. He helped me through my struggles when I first came to this forest, and he was there when I needed someone to talk to."

The Pegasus snorted.

"True, you're my friend, but you can't talk."

As she said this, she rubbed the sides of the rag together to smear the poultice as widely as possible across its surface. Then she found the biggest gnarl of all, and, blushing slightly, she kissed it and hung the rag over its lumpy form.

* * *

Gilbert gasped.

the sensation was worse than any he'd ever felt while transforming. It was as if his muscles were wringing themselves out, then squeezing and stretching and contracting all at once. He felt himself unwind until he was nothing but a series of paper cords, then rewind into a smaller, tighter form. His whole body was sticky and sopping with sap.

"I'm… alive," he stuttered. "And nothing hurts. No, this isn't right. Something's gotta hurt!"

He patted along his felted chest and rigid ribs, but all he found was a knot in his shoulder, (devoid of pain,) and the sticky sap coating his flawless, white, papery skin. He wiggled his fingers and his toes. He twitched his ears and arched his back with a pointy-toothed grin.

"Thank _Fate__!"_

He hadn't realized how much he enjoyed having working nerves until he grasped a damp rag from off his left shoulder and let is flop about his fingers. He breathed in the heavy scent of Asterabus and sighed.

The rag had something stitched into one corner, he observed. He brought it close to his face, and under the sliver of waxing moon, he made out a name embroidered neatly in green.

_Elizaveta Héderváry_

"Well, that's fancier than Karl."

Gilbert was startled by the sudden light streaming out of the cabin. Curious, he crawled to the window, ignoring the wary Pegasus angling his wings and snorting.

Blood-colored eyes looked upon a lantern perched on the window sill. They swept over the potted plants and animal skins and wooden staffs and sugar cubes and half-stitched garments laying draped over the backs of chairs.

Then they settled upon a woman, and they _sparkled. _

They sparkled at the wild waves of her hair, and the oval shape of her face, and the firm muscle in her arms, and the kind yet steely yet completely unreadable shade of green in her eyes, and the way she couldn't spell right, and the way she'd write whole paragraphs assuring him he was special and important, and the electric feeling he got whenever he received a letter, and the way they could connect when they were a world apart, no, _worlds _apart…

He'd heard her voice earlier…

She'd kissed his shoulder… and given him the poultice…

"You…" Gilbert gasped. "You're my _true love."_

And so filled with unbearable ecstasy, Gilbert did _not _fly through the cabin door to introduce himself, but rather changed himself into an eagle and soared on the night wind all the way back to the Valley of the Rhein to cuddle with his pillow.

* * *

_30 April  
__Dear diary,  
__Love is possible. It might not be practical, but it's possible. I'm not saying it's the best feeling in the world, but it's exciting while it lasts. It's a pastime anyone can enjoy for a while. A hobby, if you will. It helped cure my curse!  
__My true love is a human girl named Eliza. While I'm not ready to tell her about myself or get into anything serious after the debacle with Edeline, I'm going to try and stop denying that I have a heart that wants something. I can continue my cursing and my studying while also looking forward to something greater. I can stop moping so much and start working toward my fated purpose, whatever that may be.  
__Heh, I guess you could say the old man was finally right about something.  
__Roddy does patch his own pants!_

* * *

**~N~**

**Will Hallmark hire me now? ^^**

**Longest episode yet! Special thanks to my wild witchy friend for providing Eliza's voice in the letters. Further thanks to Animetronic for her insight on plant transformations. **

**Next episode: It's the night of a splendid soirée — one the youngest Edelstein is sure to never forget. **

**Published by Syntax-N 15 December 827. Love for reviewers and curses for thieves. **


	8. 1:8 Lila Nacht

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles **

**8\. Lila Nacht  
****_or,_**** Minor Apparitions: A "Schloß Liutberht" Reprise**

**The bells are ringing and the snow is falling at the grand Schloss Liutberht, home to Roderich's uncle, aunt, and new cousin Otto. It's the night of a splendid soirée — one the youngest Edelstein is sure to never forget.**

* * *

_The room was humid and steeped with the scent of lilacs. _

_It was a sweet aroma — sugary and whole and drunk on warm springtime joy, though it was mid-December and in the earliest morning. Outside, the clouds were gliding in, slow and languid in their procession. Evidently, snow would be early this season._

_In the room, on the desk, a single pinkish flame skipped and sparked upon an incense stick. The stick was submerged in a chalky, black, tar-like gum, and the gum was squished into the bottom of a vial about two inches long and embellished with a red-and-white striped string. With every puff of fire, a rush of lilac would huff into the room. The pretty scent concealed whatever foulness was released from the tarry gum at the bottom of the vial, and that was just the way it was supposed to be. _

_Ulrich Edelstein watched his little pink flame. This was the culmination of his work — the result of his research and the pinnacle of his project. His trousers hid scars carved by the charms of bellicose books. His sleeves hid the afterthoughts of gnarled claws and gnashing teeth. His monocle was tinted, only slightly, to hide where a spray of chemicals had burned his left eyelid. _

_He blew out the flame, put a cork in the vial, and waited for the heat to disperse. Then he picked it up and nudged his half-asleep wife._

_"__Gertrude," he whispered. "It is finished. It is perfect. The formula, the perfume, the spells…" _

_Gertrude rolled over to look at him. He placed the vial on her pillow, then sat down beside her. _

_"__Is that what smells of lilacs?" She asked. _

_"__This formula is lilac, but I've also developed rose hip and lavender, and next year I shall have edelweiss and apple blossom." _

_Gertrude let a smile spread slowly across her pointed face. "Your great creation." _

_"__It is called _Disclosure," _he said, sliding down under the covers and reaching out to hold her hands. "A bit of effluent — it doesn't matter what type — diluted so it burns slower and infused with perfume. All you have to do is place it in the child's room and light the stick before he goes to sleep. He'll breathe in the sweet scent of lilacs, but in minutes, the fumes of the effluent will creep into his blood. First he'll shiver, then cough, then feel a dreadful fever picking up, like there's a fire in his chest." _

_"__And then?" _

_"__And then," Ulrich said, "his whole body will go numb, and without even knowing it, he'll begin to slip out of his stolen shape and back into his ugly one. The effluent cancels his magic."_

_"__After all this time, you've done it, then. You've invented something that can subdue them."_

_Ulrich leaned in and kissed her, pressing the vial into her hand. "I already have investors. You are empowered, my dear. With this magic brew, everything you never wanted is gone, and you're free once again." _

_"__I have the power to rid myself of everything evil."_

_"__You have the power, and so will every woman in Volkerburg and beyond. I've invented the no-fail way to expose the parasites so they can be readily disposed of," Ulrich purred, pushing Gertrude away and rolling out of bed. "And now I'm going to sell it to your sister's husband. He's just become the father of a lovely little golden-haired boy, ripe for the plucking." _

_It took her a moment to realize just what he was implying, and then she was uptight as ever. _

_"__Ulrich! We are going to Liutberht to celebrate our new nephew, not peddle his parents your poison!" _

_"__Don't you want to empower your sister, too?" _

_She threw a pillow at his head. _

* * *

It was the sixteenth of December, and the world was one of fairy dust.

All around, snow was falling in delicate, sparkling tufts that dotted the chilly air and gathered on the ground like nature's cozy quilt. Every snowflake blinked under the light of passing lanterns and brightened to brilliant white when the moon dared peek out from winter clouds. The chickadees had dispersed after their evening prayers, and even the owls were silenced this cold, silent night.

But within the ballroom of the grand Schloss Liutberht, all was warm and merry and brimming with the pleasure of hospitality. The castle was a beacon in the center of the frosty forest. Here the candles on chandeliers glowed with the hearts of the many guests below, who were socializing as much as they were sneaking one too many thimble cakes from the table. It was a place of rest from the chill and the stress that had plagued so many over the past few weeks.

The Edelsteins were late.

First it was the maids dawdling with coffee, then it was Clara soiling her dress while trying to feed the feral cats, then it was Johannes insisting on ten more minutes to finish his passionate letter, then it was Gertrude sewing a new button on Ulrich's waistcoat, (for the first had popped off when he sniffed in anger and his belly snapped the thread,) and then it was Roderich scrambling to sort all his sheet music, and _then _they were off, only to move sluggishly along the snowy roads. Their evening meal was a basket of sandwiches and winter berry pies Gertrude had packed. She knew they would be late.

When they finally reached the murky road leading to Liutberht, their disquietude quieted. Here was relief from shaking shoulders and frozen toes! There were enough rooms in the castle for every guest to have a quiet space to himself, and after hearing Johannes' griping and Gertrude's scolding and Roderich's eerie silence all day, the obstreperous little family were ready to cease being a family for at least one night.

Boots and slippers crunched in the snow when the door of the coach was opened. Beaky noses huffed out clouds of steam, and shoulders shivered in discomfort. Young Roderich was the last to get out. He wavered in indecision for a stifling moment before leaving a small, leather-bound book between the cushions. Roderich hugged himself as he descended. His silk stockings were slipping down on his calves again, and the frothy lace his mother had forced around his neck itched terribly.

Roderich was thirteen and quickly approaching the age of dwindling boyhood. His voice was still a whine, but his limbs were beginning to lengthen, and his nose was looking a tad rounder, like it was having trouble pushing forward and settled with swelling instead. The strong jaw of his mother's side was steadily stretching his face. He still walked with that timorous, ungainly stride and the dip in his posture. Crystal-blue eyes were always downcast, and thin hands were always fidgeting.

He held up his trunk with one arm and his music case with the other, grumbling to himself about the cold and then sneezing.

"Hurry up," his father snapped. "Have you got everything? Good. Herr Gutenberg has to park."

Roderich nodded, but did not meet his father's gaze. His mother and siblings had already gone tromping along with the lantern through the wintry gloom. Feebly, he lifted his shiny shoes and took his first steps toward the warmth of the castle.

"You're going to be social tonight," Ulrich asserted. "You're going to make conversation with your relatives, and if they compliment your music, you're going to thank them and not be weird about it. Do you understand?"

"I already know that, papa."

"Don't you growl at me. You don't want your aunt and uncle to think you're mad, do you?"

Roderich flinched. _Mad. _He'd heard that word thrown at him before, yet he still wasn't used to it. The _mad _boy. The _mad _Edelstein son. The one who never talked, but could play the pianoforte like an angel in disguise, (and the _humblest _disguise, at that.)

"You can be a musician, but you can't be moody, and you can't run off and hide whenever you feel like it. Have some pride. Your uncle is the Duke of Liutberht."

"I know!"

Ulrich's mustache bristled, but in lieu of popping another button, he eyed his son and remembered why the vial of effluent was _really _in his pocket.

He slipped a plain band off his right ring finger and offered it to the boy. "I want you to have this as a present," he said, calmer. "It's iron. It will protect you."

Roderich gave a sullen "thanks" and made pains to set his trunk in the snow so he could slip the ring into his pocket. He then shoved past his father and joined his family at the door.

A boyish steward let them into the parlor — an opulent little room of red rugs and old weapons on mounts — where they promptly crowded the place with their coats and mittens and cases of various sizes.

"You remember to behave yourself tonight, Ulrich. This is _not _just another business affair," Gertrude growled.

"Of course it isn't business. I am offering my benefits as always."

"Save it for another time. We are congratulating my sister and putting away our fears for one night."

"I will be having a conversation with your sister—"

"You will do no such thing! She is tired and anxious enough as it is without your sniveling ambition ruining her soirée. This night is meant to ease her and celebrate her child. This is a night to pay attention to your own children."

"Gertrude—"

"Enough!"

At this, Johannes glowered, Clara pursed her lips, and Roderich, as always, stared into space.

They waited for a full ten minutes before the duke himself came to greet them. The blond-and-blue-eyed exemplar of extravagance looked upon his brother-in-law with a distasteful puckering of the eyebrows.

"Why is it snowing already?" Ulrich spat in place of a hello.

"Never mind the snow. You're the last to arrive. Painfully late as always," replied the duke in his deep voice. An aura of command surrounded the man, from his trimmed beard to his epaulettes to the thick coils of muscle obvious beneath his breeches. Young Roderich had spoken to him little, and at times he was afraid to foster any sort of relationship with his uncle, (especially with his father's constant gin-spiked complaints against him.)

Ulrich muttered something, but the duke had already turned on his heel and gestured with a low hand for the lot of them to follow while the stewards tended to their luggage.

The warmth of the place began to settle on Roderich's shoulders as he trundled up the stairs with his music case in both hands. He had been here twice before and still marveled at the high vaulted ceilings and the brass candle-holders lining every wall. Busts of old soldiers and mysterious closed doors called out to his childish nature, but at the same time, he felt foolish under the weight of curiosity.

_I have a duty to perform, _he thought as he raised his nose a degree. _Agency cancels out slowness. I've been blessed or cursed with my talents, but unless I aim to be a functioning, productive member of society, I'll end up as some moronic creative floating idly in the ref… _

A red glow…

brightening…

then changing…

He caught himself staring sleepily at the fireplace just within a little sitting room. His father cuffed his ear, and he continued.

The Duke of Liutberht pushed open the doors to the ballroom, and Roderich felt himself again — a young gentleman in the presence of society's jeweled idols. The place was simply enormous. Fabulous blue rugs were laid out upon the polished floor. Gowns and coattails sparkled as they swayed in delicate circles. At once, the guests acknowledged their host's presence, and Roderich saw his auntie Anna treading softly forth to meet him. In her arms was a baby wrapped up in a white gown. Wisps of golden hair crowned his head like a halo.

"Gertrude, you finally arrived. Hello, Clara. Roderich, you're getting tall!"

"Hello, auntie," Roderich said, keeping his gaze focused clearly on Anna's face. "It is nice to see you. Is that my cousin?"

Anna smiled. "Yes. It's a shame you couldn't come earlier, but now that you're here, you can say hello to little Hermann Otto."

"Oh!" Gertrude gushed. "After his Opa Otto Götz!"

"Yes, and Hermann after a handful of uncles on his father's side. One of them keeps pilfering the thimble cakes."

"He looks so peaceful asleep."

"Yes, it's so strange. He was fussy at breakfast this morning, and the rest of the day he's been a little angel — only he won't let his father hold him for some reason."

"Could I hold him?" Roderich asked.

"Oh, maybe some other time," his aunt said, a tightness in her features.

"Anna, I assure you it would be just fine to let Roderich hold his cousin," his mother said. "Roderich is…" She trailed off.

_I wouldn't drop him, _Roderich wanted to say. _I'm perfectly present. _

But this would've been an affirmation of his frequent _absence_ — with all the tears and outbursts and zoning out involved — and his ears had already pricked at the soft whispers upon his arrival to the ballroom.

_"__Isn't there something _wrong_ with that youngest kid? He sees ghosts or something?" _

Ghosts…

His mother snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Why don't you go play a song for Otto, dear? Someone you like is waiting for you." And then into his ear she whispered, "Pull up your socks and be dignified."

He did as he was told, though he grimaced at his mother's coddling nature. He was perfectly present, and with her fussiness, _perfectly _aware of when his socks weren't high enough.

Case in hand, he strode to the back of the room, and then he realized why being here felt so comforting. On a small podium was Gianfranco Roma. The fairy was all snug in a champagne-yellow waistcoat that revealed the alienness of his curved torso and tiny waist. Hanging from his wings was an assortment of teardrop-shaped bronze crystals and bells that tinkled when he fluttered. Auburn hair was swept to the left and fastened in place with a golden clip in the shape of a laurel branch. With his soul-quieting voice, Gigi sang of love in the wintertime, and the floating violins about his person accompanied him in delicate tones.

Gigi winked, then wrapped up his piece and bowed. Roderich took his place at the harpsichord. His mind instantly translated his pianoforte score. He could not sustain those tones, nor build intensity through dynamics in that passage. Perhaps a few bass chords could supplement a sense of urgency.

"Ready?" Gigi whispered.

Roderich nodded and began to play.

His fingers whisked over the narrow keys like a whirlwind. His heart was one with his music — a constant, hurried allegro that ran faster than the stress which chased it. Chords ascended and evolved, then sank back to the murky depths of the lowest octave. Flourishes floated down, sparkling and sputtering out like ashes as they went. The song was a hearth. It radiated its glow of hope and awesome mystery through the walls of the ancient castle and out into the frigid winter wasteland.

When he was finished, Gigi asked the audience to applaud him doubly, and they showered their praise upon him, surprised such a young (and supposedly _mad) _boy was so impressive. He searched among the crowd, but could see neither his father, nor his uncle. Their absence granted him great relief.

He felt a soft hand on his back and looked to see Gigi beaming. "Another round of applause for Roddy, please! He's been working so hard!"

What followed was an awkward ten minutes or so of Roderich conversing with his relatives and taking their compliments. It wasn't as if he was _afraid _to socialize. He just felt the sheer weight of the populace coming down on his shoulders. There were so many voices streaming in his direction and so many hands patting his shoulders and ruffling his hair.

"I want to see the grandchildren!"

"Look who's getting a little too much wine!"

"Eat up those pickles!"

"Mama look! I did auntie's hair!"

"So I finally told them I've had it. They'll live out in the snow—"

"Where are the grandchildren?"

It was simply another family gathering. The wine was had. The tensions buzzed. The voices raised. The drama mounted. And Roderich, who could relate to no one, was left to stand next to his mother and spectate — sometimes inevitably staring into space.

After slipping past his auntie Greta, (who was the whinging black sheep of his mother's side, if she had anything to say about it,) Roderich helped himself to a dozen chocolate thimble cakes and a furtive sip of fruity wine. (He coughed afterwards.) Gigi found him after avoiding nearly as many odd stares as compliments.

"You can't tell my wife this, but your uncle pays me like the king's finest tailor," Gigi said. "I'm making a small fortune tonight. It's ridiculous."

"You're insulted?" Roderich asked.

"I am if he thinks I'm _exotic. _I did hear something like that at his wedding to your auntie. But I'll keep quiet. I promised Tina an impressive commission. Say, is any of that wine Oracolio?"

"It's all bad-tasting."

"I figured. There's never any Allegrian wine at my venues. You could at least impress your foreign performer with his papà's own Oracolio. He doesn't give it to me for free."

"How is your family, Gigi?"

"We're doing _bene!_ Even better than the last time I saw you. I think my papà and I are on good terms now, though he's still wary of me coming here for gigs like this. Oh! We're expecting a new baby in the spring! And Lovino showed us his power for the first time!"

"Really? What did he do?"

"He has a natural talent with flora. It took me long enough to realize it. The reason he cries around rotten fruit is because he inherited my empathic powers. He can sense when plants are in pain and help them to grow. It's a powerful gift. I'm sure he'll be like you with your music someday."

"What? Showing off my talents to prove myself?"

"You're not proving yourself. Your family loves you."

"My family thinks I'm insane. My father keeps trying to whisk me off to boarding school, but it's my 'issues' that keep me from it, and the _whole _rest of the family knows about those. I want to move on already. It's embarrassing."

Gigi's wings twitched. He swirled a glass of human wine between his fingers and sipped, then wrinkled his button nose and spat out the dreadful drink. "_Are _you insane?"

Roderich faked a smile. "Maybe I do see ghosts. Maybe all the dark magic inside me is real, and maybe it's not. I don't know anymore. Maybe I'm just prone to nightmares, but that shouldn't deter my father. I think it's my own stubbornness that prevents him from sending me off."

The fairy squeezed his jaw. "If you can see ghosts, you wouldn't be insane, you know. I believe there's a world apart from our own."

"But that's you, Gigi. You believe in the impossible. It's why you inspire me."

"And I can't inspire others?"

"If you got to know them. You really are magical, and it's not just because you're a fairy. Without you, I'd be insane."

"So you're not."

Roderich's lips parted, but Gigi was smiling. His eyes were the hosts of a happy glitter. "You inspire me yourself, Roddy. You're stronger than most realize. It's the Scorpio in you."

"Don't get into that _destiny _stuff."

"It's real! We're here for a reason. Your destiny will need you to be passionate, unyielding, _ruthless. _That's the word. And you may not seem like it now, but—"

Ruthless… No… that wasn't…

Roderich felt it. That deep undertow. He held his hand up to the delicious red light and turned it over, fascinated. A voice that rasped like a growling animal called him forward — challenged him. He jerked his hand back. He would _not _be ruthless or stubborn. That would be like giving in. It would give the _creature _all the power. If he resisted, the _creature _would laugh, and his father would nod in approval.

The red light brightened… and changed… It entered him. It writhed within him.

The _creature _would laugh.

The red light brightened in the darkness.

His chest _hurt. _

"I think that's it, Gigi. You have to move your whole family up here so you can keep singing for us," said Gertrude. "Be present, Roddy dear. Your imagination can wait," she said, squeezing his shoulder. He wriggled out of her grasp and tried to make himself look present.

"I would if I could, but I'm afraid the winters here are too much. We southern fairies hate the cold," Gigi joked.

"It would help if you ate a pork chop every once in a while," Ulrich grumbled, suddenly by his wife's side.

"Where have you been? You missed Roddy and Gigi's magical duet."

"Was it magical?"

_"__Sì,"_ said Gigi, his spritely eyes growing huge. "Everyone was floating, and the water turned to Allegrian wine, and all the candles kept burning brighter and brighter."

"Glad I missed it."

"Ulrich, why were both you and the duke missing?"

In a brief aside, Ulrich informed Gertrude that their brother-in-law had objected to investing in _Disclosure, _(the lofty bastard,) but he would certainly sign on if he had every detail about how the miraculous tar was made. Gertrude objected to this (the business affair, not the duke's objection) and the two of them promptly relocated to the couch on the other side of the room to debate in greater detail.

The red light brightened. The _creature _laughed.

And Roderich was tired of just about everything.

"Roderich?"

It was his auntie Anna, come forth with Otto again. "Roderich, would you like to hold your cousin now? We're going to see the gifts everyone's brought for him."

Roderich snapped out of his yawn and smiled giddily. His auntie led him to a couch near that of his parents. He sat down, and Anna carefully placed the baby in his arms. Otto was awake and wiggling now. He peered up at his cousin with icy blue eyes and made a gurgling noise in his throat.

"He's so cute," Roderich cooed.

"Really? I think he's rather brutish," said the Duke of Liutberht.

"You stop it, Wolfgang," Anna chided. "I don't know what is up with you today."

"I am feeling feistier than usual," he said.

There were plenty of monetary gifts and hand-sewn gowns for the baby boy. He received a few wooden toys and sweets he could neither play with nor eat. The Edelsteins had brought him nothing. (They were that outrageous.) But throughout this moment, Roderich was perfectly content to feel the baby's little head resting in the crook of his arm.

When all was said and done, Gigi congratulated the noble couple again, and Anna responded with, "Gigi, We were wondering if _you _wanted to give Otto a gift. A… _fairy blessing, _perhaps? I know it's old-fashioned, but you are a fairy, and Otto is a child of noble birth."

Gigi looked startled at first. A faint petal of pink bloomed in his cheeks before he looked at the expectant faces around him, narrowed his eyebrows in the faintest offense and acquiesced.

"Sure. I've never given a fairy blessing before, but let me see him." He took the baby from Roderich and snuggled himself between the little heir's parents, flicking his wings up so he would fit. "Hmmm, what should I give him? Ah, how about a wish? Yes, I'll make a 'fairy wish' for him out of love and magic."

He cracked a half-smile and playfully pinched Otto's nose, then sang, using every vocal power he had. After all, slight offense was no reason to neglect his talents!

_"__I wish that Otto, the son of Wolfgang and Anna, will always know he is loved by someone. I wish that he will grow up to be strong, but with a heart full of kindness and justice. I wish that he will never be afraid to speak his mind, and that he will have the courage to face his fears." _

"And be handsome?" The Duke asked, no smile gracing his face.

"Sure. I wish that when he grows up, he'll become a handsome duke just like his papà."

The guests all approved of this with smiles and "awwws," and Gigi was released back into the crowd.

From here, the festivities began to wane for the night. There were a grand few dances led by Gigi, and another few led by the chamber orchestra. The thimble cakes ran out far too early, but the plates of sausages and cheese lasted for hours after. Roderich found himself nibbling at a piece of kale while trying desperately to look present. He didn't know what had come over him earlier. It was certainly another bout of madness, seeing as he heard the voice of the _creature _calling out to him and felt the sharp tingling of alien energy in his veins.

Or maybe he was just tired.

"Roddy, you're tired," he said.

When he started to yawn, Johannes ushered him off to the room they shared for the night and helped to free him from the cobwebby lace. He stripped off the accursed stockings. (He was sure they were cursed, for they hissed and crackled with crimson static when he grabbed the cuffs.) He was just about to unbutton his jacket when his heart gave a quick lurch.

_The book! _

He had left it behind for the purpose of retrieving it whenever the socializing proved stifling, but the opportunity had never arisen, and now he was without his story for the night.

"Johannes, keep the candle burning. I'll be right back."

"Don't wander off," his brother muttered, covering his face with a pillow.

With sockless feet in slippers, Roderich crept down the hall. The candles in the hallways had melted down to midnight's nubs. Goodness, was it past midnight? With the ghostly veils of snow pouring through the air outside, it was certainly the time of winter witchery. His parents' drunken slurring sailed thickly through the doors of the ballroom. Roderich scooted past the portal just as he bumped into his auntie Anna.

"Oh, Roddy dear," she slurred, "Could you take Otto to his nursery upstairs? I'm very… very tired. The child is so brutish. I… I can't look upon him any longer."

She then sashayed dismally down the hall. Otto looked like he shrugged, though that was impossible, right?

Roderich shook his head, sniffed, then marched down the stairs into the entryway, struggling with Otto in his arms. _CRACK. _The ice frozen to the door frame split when he pushed, and the devilish chill soaked into his coat. He lifted his nose and plunged into the bleak, black, silent night.

There was a red light somewhere. He'd been seeing it for months. It was erratic. It lurked in the corners of his vision and leapt out at him from the shadows. Out in the midwinter night, Roderich could see neither light nor shadow. Waves of snow whipped up from the drifts and arched their necks like dragons. Fine crystals stung his face and hands as he pressed forth into the gloom. His slippered feet sank into deep mounds and soon began to itch with a wet and terrible fury.

The stables were below the castle, weren't they? Yes — the front of the castle was built into the slope of a hill, and the back was a straight series of walls and fortifications. The stables were around the backside. Roderich bounded down the hill, nearly slipping on the sleek white snow. A few delicate flakes floated down to kiss his forehead and dampen his hair. A cold glow flowed into his cheeks. His ears were burning, and his lungs were straining. He felt his heartbeat in his fingertips — faster and faster.

A great shiver wracked him when he entered the hay-heated haven of the stable. There he found Herr Gutenberg, who had left his room to change the horses' frozen water only ten minutes before.

"What are you doing with His Little Grace?" The driver asked. "He's going to catch cold out here!"

"My auntie just gave him to me. I think her nervous condition got to her. Could I have my book please?"

_Now,_ it should be noted that around the same time Roderich succumbed to the uncommon sorcery of an early snowstorm, Gianfranco Roma was deep in the recesses of Schloss Liutberht, scraping spiderwebs out of his eyes and grumbling tired phrases to the shadows lurking in the corners. The wine cellar was his once and forever destination.

"All I want is Oracolio," he grunted. "My good, Allegrian Oracolio will give me the rest I deserve after everything. A commission, I told Tina! Just another money-making scheme! And she and papà think I'm running away again! And when I get here, they ask me to bless their baby like I'm going to pull out my sparkly pixie wand and chant some gibberish! Oh, I gave that child magical gifts, all right! Gifts he doesn't deserve! I wouldn't be surprised if he grows up and doesn't want to be a handsome duke, only to fall prey to destiny! Not my fault!"

Five minutes later, he was sobbing over a sore knee and a bottle of something certainly _not _his beloved Oracolio, spewing that it _was _all his fault with words so powerful, his bronze wings crinkled and cracked. Through tear-blurred eyes, he looked to see what he'd tripped on. It was covered up with burlap, no, cloth? Definitely burlap. Or white silk?

The mirage of illusion shifted, and Gianfranco found himself looking not at a random sack of potatoes, but a blond, blue-eyed, unshaven, disheveled, bleeding-from-the-temple exemplar of extravagance in his nightgown.

"Duke Liutberht? Wolf-a-gang? What are you doing down here?"

Gigi pinched himself. This was the duke. The man upstairs was also the duke. Then what…? Who…?

"Duke Liutberht? Eh, why don't you wake up!? You can't be dead, right? I just saw you ten minutes ago in the ballroom upstairs. You couldn't have gotten down here by yourself, right? Unless… you're…"

He spied a ring lying idle next to the duke's bleeding fingers. It was dark gray iron, and the top face was engraved with a curving, concave cross. Gigi picked it up, and his heart could only begin to freeze.

He flew on damaged wings up the stairs, through the halls, and past the doors of the ballroom. The candles were all dim and low now. Gold phantoms of light danced with lengthening shadows upon the curtains and the rugs. The faces of the Edelsteins, the Duke of Liutberht, and the few remaining guests were sharpened and printed black and white by the contours of the darkness. Ulrich's blue eyes flashed, and the duke whipped his head around to eye the poor creature panting and trembling at the door.

"He, he, he's not, he's not! Not the real duke!" Gigi sputtered. "In the basement, it was a sack of potatoes, but then it went _poof, _and, and, it, _changeling!"_

The duke rose from his seat on the couch and faced the fairy. "Gianfranco, why are you disturbing our conversation this late?"

Gigi held up the ring for all to see. "The real Wolf-a-gang is in the cellar! I _saw _him! The man you all see before you is a shapeshifter and a _murderer!"_

With this outburst, the guests cringed. They backed away from Wolfgang until a large, loose circle was formed around him. Ulrich, in his drunkenness, ripped the vial of _Disclosure _from his pocket and brandished it around for all to see.

"I'll expose the creature! Get me a candle to light this with! That'll make him see its true power!"

The duke's eyes burned. "Heinrich Ulrich, you're a mad murderer of the fair folk, your wife is an insufferable neeble-noser, and your son Roderich is just about the only sensible thing you've created. Too bad he pissed off the imps and now he's mad himself."

In his brief distraction, he didn't see Gigi pull a pair of scissors from a pouch on his belt. He clutched them by the closed blades, and with steely resolve, he kicked off and soared toward the apparent adversary.

_"__ACH!" _

"Eeeeh!"

And that was the singularity — the moment between peace and chaos where all is at a cosmic impasse. The Duke of Liutberht, with his teeth bared and his pupils mere pinpricks, had grabbed Gigi by his golden hair clip. The laurel branch was thrown far away from its bearer, and the scissor blades soon resided quite snugly in the tender muscle between Gigi's chest and right shoulder. A red stain bloomed upon the champagne-yellow waistcoat. A red stain painted the duke's smoking right hand.

Gigi screamed, and the cosmic unity collapsed. Rising from the rebound was a unified resolve among those gathered — destroy the creature at all costs.

Gertrude brandished a candlestick and a chair.

Old Opa Götz was very tall and very strong.

Ulrich had his _Disclosure, _which he hadn't lit yet. He called for anyone to bring him a lit candle, but all were so focused on throwing salad plates and candelabras at the duke's head that he was left with a dry, cold incense stick. A string of mystic messages dribbled from the invader's mouth. He lumbered forward, but brave hands tugged at his epaulettes and spat in his hair.

"They've taken the duke!"

"Where's the baby?"

"Save the baby! Save the children!"

"Where are _our _children? Roderich? Oh dear _god, Roddy!" _

"Gertrude, I swear if that boy has attracted _them _again… Oh, for heaven's sake, someone pull the scissors out of that ridiculous sprite before someone steps on him!"

By this time, the duke was at the door, and Ulrich was right at his heels. Strong hands forced little women away and grasped the brass handles. They pulled, but Ulrich pulled too — at the back of the duke's cravat. The duke whipped around and socked Ulrich straight in the face just as Ulrich squeezed him around the chest and brought the two of them crashing to the floor. Hairy hands gripped around a meaty throat, and huge, firm hands squeezed a beaky nose. Ulrich's putrid teeth tore at noble hair.

_Crick. CRUNCH. _

Gigi rolled out of the way just as the two men came rolling past. He struggled with the scissors, but his fingers were covered in blood, and every time he wiggled them, they cut further into his flesh. Grimacing through his tears, he writhed in the direction of the side table where his hair clip had landed under. Maybe he could use that to…

_CRUNCH. _

The air was filled with mist. Gigi blinked in the whitening haze, but his prize was lost.

_WHUMP. _A body dropped to the ground beside him, wracked by enormous snores. Gigi inched away just in time before another dropped on his other side. Were these people sleeping? Could it be the mist? Where had the mist come from? And why was it getting so cold all of a sudden?

"Is everyone fighting each other? Why's there so much… screaming? Oh cold…"

Gigi shivered. He felt around the icy floor for the leg of the side table, but his fingertips felt strangely numb, like they were too swollen to operate. He exhaled, and his breath came out as a freezing fog. His heart began to ache in his chest. His lungs felt sluggish, and he couldn't feel his fingers or toes.

"This mist. It's magical, isn't it? Am I falling asleep like the others? I haven't fallen asleep yet, though, and the mist is so thick. Maybe it's just because I'm a fai—"

He could say no more, for his voice came out a strangled squeak. He gasped in his breath, but a huge chunk of ice was stopping up his chest. He could feel it crystalizing over his lungs and seizing his heart. His curved torso grumbled and swelled beneath him, delicate muscle displaced by the numbness.

His heartbeat stopped.

His chest didn't move.

He could no longer breathe.

_What's happening to me? _He thought as he jerked his left hand back to shove in his armpit. He squeezed the soft skin around his fingers, but the warmth didn't register. His fingertips were stiff as wood. Curious, he shoved them in his mouth and almost choked on them when his tongue felt how cold and hard and stiff they had become. Gigi could not see much through the mist, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear:

He was freezing to death.

He couldn't feel the inside of his mouth. He couldn't feel the floor beneath him. The icy numbness was spreading rapidly through his body, overtaking and killing every nerve. His muscles burned from a lack of oxygen, then violently spasmed and were still. His fleeting breath entered his lungs, but would not be absorbed. Gigi coughed up a snowless blizzard.

Then the mist seemed to lift a bit. It peeled away from the air in smokey strings, leaving just enough light for Gigi to see his way under the side table. His right arm still moved, so he cast it forward, straining it to reach the golden laurel. If he could just touch it!

A grinding, creaking noise came from his shoulder, and a deep gray pigment crept down his arm. He reached and reached, but his body was too heavy.

Too heavy, too numb, too unbelievably _cold _for a fairy…

Tears dripped from a face of stone.

_Right about _when this disaster had concluded, Roderich re-entered Schloss Liutberht with his book in his coat pocket and his cousin sneezing in his arms. Both shivered and itched in the warmth of the entryway. Roderich's heart hurt again, but now he could relax a bit before the stress of morning travel.

So he trundled back up the stairs and down the hallways until he came to the doors of the ballroom, where a peculiar scent lingered in the air. Curious, Roderich dipped his head in and took in a dark and empty chamber. The moon, now appeared from behind the clouds, flitted softly over a series of dark, log-like shapes draped across the blue rugs and dark, tree-like shapes standing here and there like statues.

Wait… were those…_ statues? _

"How drunk did they get in twenty minutes?" He asked, wrinkling his almost-pointy nose. Otto began to whimper in his arms.

Roderich's singular suspicions were confirmed; the room was full of stone statues. Some stood upright, but most lay lifeless on the ground, their clothes spread idly about them. A stone girl, about five, lay with a chipped ear and a gray-yellow dress against the marble floor. A stone old man lay on his back, his mouth open in terror and his cravat never more wrinkled.

"Opa Götz?" He asked. His voice echoed through the stillness. The old man _did _resemble his grandfather in an uncanny fashion.

He backed up and nearly tripped over a thin statue lying strained near a side table. One hand was outstretched, reaching for something hidden beneath the cover of shadows. Four oblong disks, curled at the tips, protruded from the statue's back through its champagne-yellow waistcoat, which itself was beginning to freeze into the same dark stone. A black stain oozed from the statue's chest, where a pair of scissors was lodged.

The statue screamed in silent agony.

"Gigi?"

No response.

"Gigi!?"

Roderich shifted Otto's weight and peered under the side table. He reached to feel a bit of cold metal, and when he pulled it out, discovered it was Gigi's hair clip.

Otto whined in his arms.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Otto. Don't… d-don't cry. It's not real. G-Gigi hasn't turned to stone. He's alive. It's a dream. I'm just zoning out again."

A painful pulse in his chest warned him this may not be the case. With one arm, Roderich strengthened his grip around the baby. The other hand plunged into his pocket to fidget with his father's ring. He slipped it on his ring finger and squeezed his fist tight. Then he sucked in his breath and looked to the ceiling.

His eyes once crossed over a pair of statues hugging each other tightly.

Roderich scrambled on trembling legs over to the center of the room and threw himself down on his knees. His heart was ripping itself through his chest. His eyes were itching and wetting, but he blinked and tore his head from side to side. No, he wouldn't look. He wouldn't look. He was _insane. _He'd believe it this time. He wouldn't fight the creature again. He wouldn't please his father again. He'd sit in his misery and let the red light flash and the energy enter his body and break his bones. Then he'd accept it as a nightmare and growl at his parents to stop managing him and _move on already _because he was _free _and he was _strong _and he would run toward no expectations, but charge straight sideways…

Only he couldn't growl at his parents.

His parents hugged each other close before him. His father wore the face of a tiger poised to pounce while gripping his wife to his chest. His mother stared at her outstretched hand in horror while clawing into her husband's back. Their expressions were unwavering. Each wrinkle was set in stone. Each bristly hair was a gray, stiff quill — never again to grow or to curl.

A faint _cricking _spread across Ulrich's deep blue jacket as it hardened and transmuted. Panicking, Roderich seized the bottom left corner, but the color of stone poured forth from above. He dared not touch the infection, but he plunged his hand into his father's pocket before it could be consumed. There was nothing within but a vial full of tar and a spare pair of spectacles. Roderich sat back down and hunched in on himself, shivering in the stillness.

"Mama? Am I mad? Mama?"

Otto began to wail.

"No, Otto, don't cry. It's just a nightmare like the ones with _him. _It's not real. Don't cry. It's not dignified. Don't… cry…"

The red light grew brighter.

Roderich wept.

An ancient grief frightened away the childish confusion, and his heart drove itself right through his chest, leaving him empty and wounded. How could they have turned to stone!? How was that even possible!? Was his spite the catalyst? Was his frustration the fire that melted the incense of his own doom? It was all real, he knew, for otherwise Gigi would have vanquished all evil with his powers of light…

Unless no magic was strong enough to vanquish evil, in which case, magic was meaningless.

There was _no_ light in Schloss Liutberht, save for the cool silver of the moon and the faint strings of red clinging to Roderich's vision that melted everything into a painful shade of purple.

And the candle in the room upstairs.

* * *

_The morning of the twenty-fifth of December, in a quaint sitting room, two fairies hugged each other close. The smaller was a spritely woman with wings of green — now a deep, deep gray — hanging lifelessly from her back. The larger was a stubbly man of middle age, whose honey eyes were expressionless as they stared into the golden flames of the fireplace. His muscled, hairy arms patted the woman, though with each pat, the energy dissipated more and more until the pats ceased altogether. _

_The woman raised her tear-streaked face to look upon the man, who was clearly fighting back tears of his own. She then bit her lip and buried her face in his shoulder. _

_"__I could've stopped him," the man said, "but then I would never forgive myself. And because I didn't stop him, I can forgive neither myself, nor the Dragon." _

_"__It wasn't your fault," said his companion. "He would… he was… he loved you, and he loved me. Whatever took him was pure evil." _

_"__The only thing that could take him was pure evil. He was the Patron of Light. He was my son, dammit," the man forced. Moisture had formed at the corners of his eyes. He lifted his right hand and hid his mouth from view, slowly shaking his head. "Now he's gone… He's gone, and his second child won't know his father." _

_"__Grandpa? Are you sad?" _

_The two looked over their shoulders to see a fairy boy, no more than two, standing in the doorway. Little green wings were poised curiously on his back. He stepped into the room, then wrinkled his button nose in confusion. _

_His mother and grandfather shared a glance, then wiped their tears and looked back at the child, who was trying his hardest to lift himself over to them with his wings instead of his feet. _

_"__Lovi, come here," his mother said. _

_Abandoning his flight attempts, the little one bounded over and crawled up in his mother's lap. He scanned hands and pockets for possible treats, but his huge green eyes were soon trapped by the quivering lips of his mother. She wiped more tears and patted Roma's shoulder._

_"__Lovino," Roma said, pulling a red mahogany box from out beside him, "I have a present for you. It's something your… it's something I want you to have." _

_"__Is it chocolate?" _

_His grandfather shook his head, mind reeling at the weight of what he had yet to tell the boy. He opened the box and let Lovino peer inside. Within the yellow velvet was a hair clip in the shape of a laurel branch. It was freshly-polished, and its golden luster shone like the sun in the firelight. _

_Roma took the clip between his big, warm fingers, and with dearest care, fastened it in Lovino's hair just above his left eye. _

_"__Your papà loved you more than anything, Lovi," he said, placing his hands on the little one's shoulders, "and I love you, too." _

* * *

**End of Book 1**

* * *

**_~N~_**

**Times I have cried while writing: Chapter 80 of _Hetafata_ and THIS THING. It's because I was listening to dramatic Christmas music the whole time, lol. _Mannheim Steamroller's _"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and "Stille Nacht" and David Lovrien's "Minor Alterations" wrote this episode for you all. Yes, I liked two musical pun titles and couldn't decide, (but the German wordplay gets priority ;) Thank you for a wonderful first arc of SCC, and happy holidays to all! **

**Special thanks to Animetronic for endless transformation inspiration**

**Next episode: Gilbert's life gets a little stranger…**

**Published by Syntax-N December 24th, 2019. Reviewers nice list. Thieves naughty. Got it?**


	9. 2:1 Tauschlein

**Book 2: Purple**

* * *

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**9\. Tauschlein**

**Gilbert awakes in the night to the mewling of a strange creature out in the snowy cold.**

* * *

Gilbert was caught up in the age-old dilemma:

Should he get up to investigate the strange noise (and eat a snack and piss in the pot and press a cold cloth against the back of his sweaty neck and maybe throw up because even changelings could drink too much cream,) or should he stay in bed where he was all warm and snug?

Ultimately, the strange noise forced him from rest. It had begun as a flat harmony to the screaming of the cursed winter wind and now lingered on its own as an eerie, mewling howl. It was frightened — the cry of an injured animal or a shivering bird begging to come in from the storm.

Gilbert pushed himself up from his pillow, wincing as his elbows popped, and stared out the window onto the hellish white tableau. Millions of snowflakes swirled like the sparks of static jumping around on his bedsheets. Great drifts had piled up to ice the branches of barren trees, whose spindly limbs pointed like daggers up to the misty moon and down to the sparkling ground.

He pressed his left palm to the thin pane separating him from frozen nose hairs and growled in his throat. The tiny heart he was conditioned to deny would win this time. He had to drag himself from dreams of blue skies and feather-fluff to press out into the dark, biting snowdrifts and see whatever that noise was. (How would he sleep otherwise?)

Like the humblest of capes, Gilbert wrapped the comforter around his shoulders and trudged down the spiral staircase. When he reached the first floor, he lit the candles with a gruff hum of his voice and braced himself to enter the unknown. He hadn't any idea how cold it was. The day before, nothing but a pinch of snow had graced the ground. Nature was falling off its axis indeed if deepest winter's devilish drifts arrived mid-December.

But he knew he would complain of high summer's heat just as quickly.

Gilbert's shoulders squeezed tight. His pointed teeth locked in a foul-breathed frown. His ears folded as far back as they could go before he slapped a fur cap over his head and stuffed his dainty fairy feet into his (stolen) winter boots. The hands of a skeleton sank into the recesses of mittens. A coat was draped around bulging ribs and tied up snugly with a scarf.

The noise came again, and Gilbert shivered. Some malevolent force must be at work here, he thought. The golden glow of the candles crawled up the walls and flickered in tongues of shadow and light, turning the room into a sacred chamber lost in the bleak plane of night. High above, in the cracks between stones and the dead veins of the floorboards, an eternal darkness lurked. There, Gilbert knew, lay the secrets of the past and the purple clockwork of the future. Beyond it lay the sky that knew no limits, and above that was the place where the rusty key to the eleventh plane was stowed within a chest at the peak of a golden pyramid. The whole place thrummed with F minor.

Metaphysical musings aside, something was digging under Gilbert's fingernails, and that something seemed to be right outside his front door!

Gilbert unhooked the latch. He turned the handle and pushed. Slowly, carefully, he strained to break the ice which had formed at the corners of the doorframe. A hostile tongue of snow lapped his face and stung his beaky nose until it was damp and red.

The noise blared from below him. It was heartbreaking. It was maddening. It was all-consuming. Gilbert's blood-colored eyes darkened and deepened into pools of pure lament at the mournful mewl. He _felt _it weighing down his heart as he felt the nature of all music. He was cursed. Oh, he was _cursed! _

But then when he saw the nefarious origin at his feet, it was revealed to be nothing but a wiggling bundle!

"What the fuck? A baby?"

Gently, he bent down to pick up the swaddled creature and lay its little head in the crook of his elbow.

"Hello? Who left this baby here!?" He cried into the weather. "You can't just leave babies on doorsteps in winter! Come back, coward! I don't want this! It keeps crying and making me sad!"

A snowy owl swiveled its head to judge his ruckus. Gilbert craned his neck anxiously around. He left the doorstep and circled the tower like a suspicious wolf, looking with his night vision for any sign of footprints, but the only indents he could find were very small and faint, as they had been eroded away by the wind and filled in with new snow, and these only led _to _the tower and not away from it.

Gilbert made a sour face at the creature. "What, did a witch drop you off and fly away on her broom? Only a witch would be able to find this place when it's concealed by magic! No one's supposed to be able to find it without permission!"

The baby only looked up at Gilbert's rosy-yet-hollow cheeks and squealed.

"Just stop, will you? Now you're really starting to freak me out! I'm supposed to be sleeping up there, see? Just below that window up there I have a very nice, cozy bed with feather quilts I made myself! You're supposed to be in your own bed, wherever that is. A witch snatching you from your crib is nothing but rude! Honestly! Stealing a child away from its parents… in the middle of the night, no less!"

The baby had now noticed Gilbert's gleaming yellow fangs and twitching white ears and bulging red eyes. Fresh tears spilled onto its cheeks — tears that had Gilbert scampering toward the door of the tower once again.

"Okay, okay! I'm not going to leave you out here! Just stuff a sock in it and let me get you warm."

Once back in the confines of his eerie golden-lit temple, Gilbert lay the bundle on one of the couches and heaved a new log onto the embers of the fireplace. When he was back in only his pajama pants and the fire was crackling nicely, he warmed his hands and his back and especially the poor stiffened tips of his ears!

"Now, let's discover your nature, little fiend," he rasped as he marched over to the bundle. "Is that a sleeve hanging off you? What is this you're wrapped in? A robe? You're telling me a witch nabbed you and then wrapped you up in her robe when it's freezing out. Even I wouldn't do something like that!"

He positioned himself over the baby and peeled each sodden fold of the robe away to reveal its body. _He _wore nothing beneath but a healthy plumpness that Gilbert couldn't wrap his head around. Chubby fists swung through the air, and teary eyes threatened to burst again.

Gilbert peered into those eyes. They were a serene yet brutal tint of blue, like the deceitful sky of a winter's day, though they didn't deserve a metaphor. All that lay within them was cold fear upon a flat plane of color. Not a single star, nor any pinprick of intelligence or wisdom twinkled in the shallow color. These were not magic eyes. No, these were…

Gilbert saw the tiny, reddened, _rounded _ears and nearly pitched a fit.

"You're a baby _human!" _He shrieked, sending strings of spit flying all over the little one's face. "You're a human, or the frost bit off the tips of your ears, and I doubt that when you were wrapped up so snugly."

The baby only wanted to be wrapped snugly again, and he made this clear with a sharp cry and a brutish waggling of his right fist. Gilbert draped the robe over him like he was dangerous to touch, wincing at the weight of the whole situation. A baby _human, _just _left _with him, with _no _evidence of anyone having brought him. And whoever had brought him was callous enough to leave him out on an ice-coated doorstep where the snow could burn his face and the icicles could fall to pierce him.

For one terrifying moment, the starless eyes and the privileged plumpness meant nothing to Gilbert, and he could see only an innocent child — taken from his mother and rejected here in the deep, dark, snowy woods. The same old phantoms plagued his memory as he listened to the baby mewl. Something powerful sparked in his throat, and he felt a wave of tingling wreathe its way to his fingertips. His claw-like nails flashed bright crimson in the candlelight. For one terrifying moment, Gilbert's eyes were full of that old, mad wickedness, and he felt as if Nature herself were his ally in the matter.

But the child cried at the sight of Gilbert's wickedness, and so he took him in his arms again and tried with all his might to clear his throat and sing words of solace. He had only finished one rusty stanza of a made-up lullaby, (Fritz had _never _once sung to him,) when he saw the tatty slip of paper resting at his side. It had no doubt fallen out of the robe. Gilbert snatched it up and prepared himself for an onslaught of invalid excuses.

**_Please take care of this swap-child. _**

Oh…

They were curious beings, swap-children. They could be human or fair or demonic or taurian or the race of any lesser fiend or beast, and they could be alive or dead or enchanted or imprisoned or made to vanish from the earth. But each had one important trait in common with another — his shape and life had been stolen so a changeling child may have a better one, and he was discouraged from taking them back.

It was nature and desperation that drove Gilbert's kind to swap, but rarely would a swap-child suffer the cruelest fate. As in ancient lore, the dark fae were firstly peaceful and doubly misunderstood, and the poor unfortunate swap-child, especially the _young _one, never came to harm, but was dutifully stowed far away from its familial upset.

Gilbert was not impressed that one had found its way to his doorstep.

"So you're a swap-ling, eh? Poor kid. I can't take you back home, or your changeling would be killed without a second thought. But you can't stay with me. Do I look like someone who should look after a baby human? I'd eat you if I ran out of currants."

The baby squirmed in his arms.

"Calm down! It was a joke!

But nothing would calm him.

"Ach, I get it," Gilbert sighed with a knot in his heart. "You wish it was your human mama holding you and not this beaky freak. Isn't that funny? You're so dumb, and yet you already know how to judge others for their looks. Well, I'm not going to change for you!"

A few seconds later, he was wiping his spit from the baby's wispy yellow hair and muttering curses that were not meant for a baby's ears — even if they were squashy rounded things with the tips bitten off by the wind. How a baby could look so brutish, Gilbert hadn't the faintest idea.

"I'm sorry. I have history with humans. I'm sensitive to this kind of thing. I promise I'm not going to eat you as long as you don't hurt me. Can we be…"

He almost said _friends, _but he didn't like that word, so he said "mutual partners in this predicament."

The baby answered with a scratchy squeal and continued his uproar.

By this time, Gilbert was twitching with emotion. He bundled up the baby and placed him within a makeshift nest of pillows. Then he scanned the two bookcases on the first floor which held the safer magical substances. Each potion bottle and herb-box and vial of elixir and book on fantastic plants had been furiously dusted and sorted only a week before, so it took no time at all for Gilbert to locate a little concoction he'd brewed up back when he was struggling to sleep with wood in his back and roots in his belly.

He uncorked the vial of starry purple fluid and poured it into a glass, then filled the rest up with cream, (suddenly reminded of his nausea after overindulging at supper.) He mixed it with his five-millimeter sapphire-tipped potion-stirring stick before retching like a bird out onto the doorstep and wiping his forehead.

He approached the child again, but the declaration of intolerance had been made. Gilbert would make no progress trying to calm his visitor when he was in such an unsightly state. A change had to be made, or Gilbert would never return to his birdy rest.

"You're really gonna make me do this," he grunted toward the bundle.

Huffing in reluctance, he let himself melt into that pleasurable state of warm tingling that came with transformation. The hateful disguise focused in his mind, and he pulled himself toward it. Already his subconscious was sending millions of signals along his nerves to each and every cell. His mind's eye saw every change needed, and his imagination foretold how he was to feel as he changed.

It was all too familiar, now. The warmth concentrated around his solar plexus, and he placed his hands on the shrunken canvas below his ribs just as a churning gurgle began brewing up inside. Slowly, his stomach bubbled and bloated outward until the surface was soft and squishy between his fingers. Little buds of muscle firmed up just under the skin, sending a great wave of heat up through his chest and down into his legs.

Then everything started growing at once. Ragged strings of malnourished muscle spasmed and swelled in his limbs. His hands twitched and jerked as they stretched into the sculpted, meaty hands of a gentleman. His breathing quickened as his lungs expanded and strengthened. His chest puffed up to match broadening shoulders and a thickening neck. Everywhere, a flush, peachy suffusion was bleeding into his paper-white skin. Harsh purple veins quieted and faded to a cool blue. Little moons painted themselves beneath manicured nails, and all the stretch scars and lines of age erased themselves from his complexion.

A great many _snaps _emerged from a bulging spine. Gilbert felt his jaw break, then crunch back together. His nose molded down into a handsome point, and his ears pulled into themselves until they were nothing but reddened, rounded nubs under a mess of shiny platinum hair.

Gray-blue eyes blinked twice, and Wilhelm scowled as he loosened the ties of his pajama pants. Heck, he barely needed the ties anymore. He knew he wouldn't after he scarfed down all the leftover bread and jam to make up for this shameful act of magic.

"There. You have no need to be frightened anymore. I transformed into a human like you," he announced, taking the glass of creamy potion and setting himself up with the baby in his lap on the couch. He dipped his pinky into the mixture and offered it to the little one, who, after some gentle coaxing, sucked it clean.

The tears and mewling began to abate. Finger after finger, and the baby grew restful. His shallow blue eyes peered up at the white teeth and the peachy ears and the platinum hair and regarded them with total trust.

"Ah," he chirped.

"You finally feel sleepy? Good. That potion should warm you up after what you've been through tonight. Go to sleep, and tomorrow I'll sort out what to do with you."

Of course, the baby only truly fell asleep once Wilhelm sang to him again and read him a little story and placed him safely and securely in an elaborate pillow-nest next to his bed upstairs. He wrote in his diary of the encounter and slipped beneath the feather quilts. By this time, the sun was beginning to peek out over the eastern promontory, and a new day had begun.

_Swap-child, _Gilbert thought inside Wilhelm as he prepared to enter the morning dreams. _But who would leave a swap-child _here? _She'd have to know a changeling lives here. Maybe somebody who knows Fritz? I wish Fritz would come back from that secret mission soon… _

For an hour, he was lost in limitless skies, and then the horrid noise erupted again for an entirely different reason.

* * *

**~N~**

**Happy birthday to Gilbert~ . XD Exciting things are coming in the second arc of SCC! **

**Tauschlein: a child taken and swapped with a changeling, (from tauschen — "to swap") as opposed to Täuschlein, a changeling masquerading as a child, (from täuschen — "to deceive.") **

**Next episode: The young, orphaned heir to a vast fortune, the adults who (don't) respect him, and the dark persona he crafts in the shadows**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net January 19th, 828. Wear a warm hat! Go to the gym! Drink water! DON'T repost. ^^**


	10. 2:2 Der Schwarze Ritter Strauß

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**10\. Der Schwarze Ritter Strauß**

**Somewhere in the southern part of the testy conglomerate, there was a mansion full of bickering strangers, and among them, a languishing ghost of a boy. **

**Dedicated to all the Hermanns of the world, and a certain Allister of another**

* * *

Never in the history of posthumous debacles had one man been so utterly enraged by a slip of paper.

It had flitted out of a recent account book and fluttered down to rest on the dusty carpet. The edges crinkled slightly, and the white creases spider-webbing the surface obscured part of the lazy scrawl across its width. It was roughly pentagonal in shape, though one edge had been ripped in a frayed, fuzzy curve.

It read:

_**If Gertrude ceases to mutter over my meager grave, I then leave everything to Strauß. I shall write the ethical will later. Do not question my grave for an explanation. Strauß is the most qualified of any to receive what is left. **_

_**-H. Ulrich Edelstein.**_

Knuckles twitching with rage, Albert Mendelssohn picked up the slip and threatened to tear it to pieces before his sister, Hattie, seized it and tried to scrutinize every fiber of the poor thing for a tinier message. Their poofy little dog, Lina, sneezed at the dust and then went back to wagging her tail, unaffected by the nonsense.

"There's nothing else," Albert barked. "I've searched this cursed house a hundred times, _and _searched it with the Edelsteins and Eidelsteins and Eggelsteins and Tütter and Varter and Trinkenschuh and all their wives and children peeking under the floorboards right next to me. I even searched late that one Thursday evening — the one when we all were forced to eat dinner together and that idiot Epstein choked on a Schnitzel."

"That was a suspiciously large Schnitzel," his sister said.

Albert brushed it off. "That one with the cane — Hermann Something-or-other-stein—"

"I thought he was Hermann Hermann?"

"So now they're just sneaking in here without even being related!"

"No, I believe Hermann Hermann is a cousin of the uncles in Nordreinold. What about him?"

"I think he's up to something. I think he knows where the will is. The real one _and _the ethical."

At this, Hattie plopped herself down in the dusty musty chair in the corner of the study and beckoned to the dog, who scampered over and jumped up to perch in her lap. A sigh escaped her lips. She stroked the fluffy animal and then trailed her fingers along the spines of account books never to be opened by their owner again.

"Even if there is more to the will than that slip of paper, it doesn't change the fact that all assets and investments are firstly left to one Strauß."

"But there is no one with that name! Hermann searched all the family records!"

"Which Hermann are we talking about now?"

"Hermann… em… it was Hermann Einhorn!"

"He's only five years old. I think you mean Hermann _Hermann _Einhorn. Or it could be Hermann Hermann."

"Look, can we give all the Hermanns special names to differentiate them?"

"We could, but then we'd also have to give special names to the Alberts and Ludwigs."

"Ach!" Angry Albert bit, and then, seizing Ulrich's will, marched right out of the room. "Come on, Lina, you little _gremlin,"_ he called after, and the dog followed at his heels.

* * *

Roderich Edelstein sat primly on his chair in the tea room taking indulgent bites and slumping his posture until his shoulders pinched. The morning light glinted off the snow and streaked through the grand bay windows, brightening some colors and utterly whitewashing others. The little glass figures in the china cabinet diffracted beams of red, green, and rainbow onto the edelweiss wallpaper. Roderich had slept until nine; there was no reason not to, especially since he'd been sleeping so well lately, and there was no power lofty enough to stop him from eating another two slices of Sachertorte for breakfast.

No one had paid much attention to Roderich at all the past month. The maids spent enough time as it was cleaning up after the strangers inviting themselves into the mansion to search for a will. Roderich knew his uncle Albert, and he thought he recognized an estranged auntie Ilse from his mother's side, but the rest of the party were completely unknown to him, and he was beginning to think that handful of Hermanns from Nordreinold were trying too hard to look inconspicuous.

The whole mess had puzzled and annoyed him at first. Surely if Ulrich had left a will, his heir would be someone special to him and not one of these distant Hermanns who kept overturning the carpets and sneaking slices of Roderich's cake. But as the days wore on, his will to question the adults withered and wilted. The sound of the swinging door grew as natural to him as the ticking clock, and the annoyances dulled in his mind.

Some angry, productive vestige of life under Ulrich nagged him, but Roderich found himself becoming more and more complacent with the torpid life. He ate cake. He played the piano. He let the strangers step on him. He stuffed away those memories that haunted him and replaced them with the scents of fresh linen and coffee and Kaiserschmarrn and snow. A curse had taken those he loved most, but really, the most sensible thing to do was accept the past and refrain from making more trouble.

Most of the time he slept.

Presently, a little urchin Roderich had never seen in his life waddled into the tea room followed by his lanky father. The little one pointed with a fist at Roderich's slumped shoulders and sockless feet and especially at the chocolate-smeared fork in his right hand. Roderich narrowed his eyes back, and the child gave a sharp chirp.

"That's your cousin Roderich," the father said with a smile full of tartar and coffee breath.

"Is he a Wiener like us?" The little one asked.

"No, but he is a wiener. He sits around all day doing nothing."

"What's wrong with him? Doesn't he want to find the will?"

"He's your uncle Ulrich's son. He knows where the will is, and he's making it hard for everyone by keeping his mouth shut."

"I _don't _know where it is, and there's nothing wrong with me," Roderich said. "Unless there's something wrong with being annoyed at strangers in one's home."

The little one jabbed a finger out and poked his stomach. "Are you a ghost?"

Roderich buckled forward at the sudden touch. With a disgusted wrinkle of his brows, he pushed the child away with his knuckles and finished the last bites of his cake.

"I'm not a ghost," he growled through his teeth.

"No, little Hermann, he isn't a ghost. But he _isn't _entirely human, either," said the lanky father.

Roderich set his forehead in his hands and yawned. One slice of Sachertorte remained in the icebox, and he promised himself he would save it for dessert after another exhausting supper with Hermanns Anonymous, (hopefully without the aesthetic of jealous bloodlust. Honestly, if Roderich were mad, another ghost would only exacerbate the madness.) He couldn't eat his feelings here and now. More annoyances would come later…

"You know we're all watching you. Whatever kind of elaborate game you're playing with us will be the end of you."

"Did you even know my father?"

"I knew him the same as all the others, and in the past few days they have begun to talk of strange things. Your aunt said your father was a _wizard_ and he sealed the knowledge of the will inside of you with a magic spell. She said she could see the darkness in those unnatural purple eyes of yours."

"They're not purple. They're blue like my mother's. The glass in these spectacles tints them."

"Your father enchanted you, didn't he?"

"That's _private!" _

"It's time to stop keeping secrets!"

"You don't even know me! Stop talking to me like you know better about everything!"

More baseless conspiracy theories were thrown about, but Roderich was already finished arguing. He was convinced none of these insufferable money-kissers could read a newspaper and learn what really happened that night at Liutberht, nor could they pull their own ostrich heads out of the sand for one moment to realize they were trying to steal money from a dark wizard's grave.

Thoroughly miffed by the idiocy of social interaction, he quit the tea room and trundled up the stairs to his parents' bedroom, where he tore off his father's spectacles and curled up under the covers in a lonely and miserable heap.

* * *

Albert Edelstein and Ilse Marie Götz sat together in the drawing room. It was half past two, and a very relaxing time to chat. Cups of tea lay steaming on the side tables nearest their respective armchairs. Logs were crackling in the fireplace to counteract the works of the frigid winter sun outside.

"Ulrich didn't know a 'Strauß.' Once we make the others realize this, the inheritance will surely fall to one of us," Ilse said. "One. Take. All."

"We wouldn't want anything illegal to happen now," Albert Edelstein tutted from his chair. He was a grossly fat old man whose mustache made it look like a gray squirrel had taken up residence behind one of his ears and hung its tail low under his vulturish nose. He smoothed his coat out over his belly and arched his eyebrows in a smug challenge.

"You would frame me in a heartbeat," the lady said. "Don't you start thinking you have special privileges because Ulrich was your little brother. Gertrude was my little sister, and I'm entitled to her assets first and foremost."

"You're an old spinster. Your dead duchess sister deserves it more than you."

"I lost two sisters that night. You only lost a… a fellow in what? Manufacturing? You're as much a twisted businessman as he was. You want to absorb his assets and invest doubly for yourself!"

"Why are you being so competitive? What would you do with a scrap of my brother's cash?"

"I'd clean this _filthy _mansion. And then I'd take poor Roddy and give him a bath and a haircut and send him to boarding school so he stops inhaling dust and haunting the place all day long."

"Heh! Rather than be a mother for him?"

"You've seen it in his face. The last thing he wants is anyone caressing him. The boy doesn't need to be comforted. He needs to _do _something. To, to have a purpose."

"I won't argue with you over Roderich's welfare. You'll be adopting him as far as I'm concerned. Herma and I have enough grandchildren to feed already. My question is of why you'd fight me over this pot-pourri pit when you could have better gains in the Battle of Liutberht?"

"The Duke of Liutberht has a direct heir by blood — his son Hermann Otto, who's sleeping upstairs just like Roderich probably is."

"There's something wrong with that Roderich. I greeted him the other morning and he only nodded his head and ducked out of sight. He has no respect. Better that one of us uses the inheritance to toughen him up.

"Either that or he's simply mad. The other night he was pouring salt into his parents' bedsheets and claiming it kept away evil creatures. He can't be 'toughened up' in any case. A little etiquette would suit him better."

"Well, we'll see to him later. Ulrich obviously didn't intend to leave anything to a mad son. And Hermann Otto is only an infant. He can't decide for himself what to do with the influence his father's position held. Why don't you adopt both boys and become a regent?"

Ilse's thin eyebrows raised so far up her forehead it took on the texture of a wrinkled toadskin. "You think I'm so stupid!? Why don't you evaluate your words before you spew them into the moldy air? There is no "Battle of Liutberht." The only ones who were so adamant as to remove anything from the castle were some foreign family who wanted to burn their relative's body in dragonfire. Liutberht is _cursed, _and until we find a wizard who can tell us it's not, no one's going back in there."

"You'd better protect its cursed assets, then. I wouldn't be surprised if a robbery has already taken place within the past month or so."

Ilse snorted. "You kid yourself. With the imp scare going on? The last time I was up in Nordreinold, the boutiques were so hysterical, they sooner proffered me a wristlet of red currants than a summer bonnet. Liutberht is quite safe. Of course, you hardly need to know that. You would spend hours trying to convince me to look into Liutberht when you know it's a lost cause."

"So it seems. But Otto's inherited the ring at an unfavorable time in his life. It doesn't fit his finger now. Who knows whose finger it will fit in ten or twenty years' time?"

"You're wicked."

"So are you, milady. Be patient, now. If we're both looking to carve up Edelweiss, we must wait until the dust clears and it becomes obvious enough we are the heirs."

"My big girl bloomers are on, Albert. Don't cross me."

"Disgraceful."

* * *

A door slammed below the floor.

It was the second or third slam within twenty minutes, and certainly the loudest of the night. Roderich rolled over in bed. His hair was long and dark and hanging in sweaty strings over his face — nothing of its usual soft, silky splendor. He wiped it out of his eyes and cringed at the amount of oil sliding under his fingers. He'd bathed four days ago. He could go another day without it. All these strange new odors couldn't be cause for concern. And who was to smell him anyway? He had nowhere to go and no one to see.

He didn't want anyone to see him anyway. Not in this state, with red-rimmed eyes and numerous wet spots on the pillow he was cuddling. In the morning he would sleep, but now insomnia was clocking in and dragging up all the dark memoranda, carelessly filed away and forgotten for a time, but now double-marked in red and purple ink.

"What am I doing?" He whispered to the darkness. "I'm supposed to be doing… something… but I hate all the noise. Why can't it just be quiet?"

The door slammed again, and a drunken tune sailed up from under the floorboards.

Roderich straddled the pillow and squeezed it tighter, burying his nose into the plumpness. His heart quickened in his chest, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. Another hot tear dribbled down his cheek. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep, even breaths, but ended up alert again. The corner of the side table was so fascinating to look at. He could stare at it for hours, and he had already.

What else was fascinating? The clod of dust on the rug? The slowly-shifting moonbeam shining through the talon-marked window? The spidery dreadlock of brunet hair his auntie Ilse had cut from the back of his head and stuffed messily into the hair receiver on the dresser? The salted sheets stuffed into a clump in the corner?

His untouched supper?

In that southern corner of the testy conglomerate was a mansion full of souls, and Roderich was still looking up from the darkened corner of a purple corner, so pitifully niche and introverted and _different _that even if someone would take the time to understand and accept him, he would be unhappy over the time it took for understanding to happen.

No one was left to understand him, and the oblivious mass of shriekers and door-slammers and jolly normal folk were too cold to open their arms for him. He had no say in this inheritance debate. It was as if he were only a ghost, good for nothing but insight into Ulrich's faded mind. And the ones who questioned him were also mere ghosts — flitting in and out of his conscious plane faceless and nameless, yet always strange and malevolent.

He wanted _desperately _to join the world, and yet a discerning mind and a defective, atrophied set of social skills rendered the world a frightening bureaucracy. Others were born knowing all the emotional bylaws and familiar clauses. Others didn't judge a new environment at the first cautious glance. Others were zealous to turn the absurd mundane and the mundane hostile, and zealous to inform the weak and anxious of the changes. (Such was the rhythm of youth.)

Who was really the thin-wristed fiend approaching him? The imp with impunity, or the swap-child whom no one knew lived, afraid to put himself forth, lest the imp become frightened and threaten to devour him?

Roderich rolled out of bed. He took a box of matches from the side table drawer and lit the nubs of candles around the room. Then he sat on the pile of sweaty sheets and began to eat his onions. He should have been asleep, but his natural clock now designated daytime as night and nighttime as the daily grind of negative self-talk. There was really no reason for other activities to ensue. It was too cold to go outside, and it was too annoying to go downstairs. Even playing the pianoforte couldn't bring as much pleasure as it once had, and when it did, he became self-conscious and banished himself from it again.

When he finished, he put the plate aside and contemplated whether to fetch that last slice of Sachertorte. He'd need to find his slippers and don a blanket cape to stay warm downstairs. And goodness, was he presentable? How purple were the blotches under his eyes? He reached across the side table and grasped the little mirror he'd pilfered from his mother's jewelry box. Roderich sucked in his breath and prepared himself for the horrors.

Which were… completely different than he expected.

"That's… that's a trick of the light," he muttered as he glared at his expression in the glass. "They're…"

He rubbed both eyes to confirm he wasn't wearing his father's spectacles. It was true he'd grown used to them sitting perched on his nose — for familiarity, or maturity, or as a way to keep his face from looking plain — he wasn't sure. The last time he'd looked at himself without them was… before the night at Liutberht.

And…

"This can't be true. My eyes… "

They were such a _clear _color, like the false, sun-blinded view of a pond in winter. Not blue like snow crystals, but _purple_ like some enchanted gleam shining plainly from the depths. The purple didn't _glow_ like magic. Rather, it floated heavily upon the pale plainness of his face as a grim and beautiful anomaly. A deep shade sunk in the center, and out from this lay the delicate fibers of lighter and lighter lavenders until the pink of his eye whites were reached. It was so naturally wrong that for a moment he believed he was dreaming. Or perhaps, that he was a ghost. A ghost just like Gilbert, who would haunt Edelweiss in the shape of a cursed bird that tore open memories and left everything to question again.

Roderich dropped the mirror. He peered down with purple eyes at the thin wrists and thinner, quivering fingers that had gripped it so weakly. He placed them on his warm chest and felt beneath the solid bones and the rushed, panicky heart.

He saw the ruby eyes, as if in a dream, and he _knew._

"It all really happened, didn't it. He's alive."

Gilbert was alive, and Gigi's songs couldn't penetrate the gloom. Gilbert was alive, and Ulrich's spells could not remove the curses. Gilbert was alive, and some great evil had turned the good and the wicked to stone. Gilbert was alive, and his twisted, sadistic magic had bent and broken Roderich's bones not in forgotten dreams, but in cold, frightening reality.

Shivering, Roderich wrapped the dark blanket around his shoulders like an impenetrable cape. He placed his father's spectacles on the bridge of his nose and pushed them up to frame the purple eyes. He combed his stringy hair with his fingers until it frizzed with static and stood on end. Then he left the room that maddened him and made his way downstairs to devour that last slice of Sachertorte and tell the merrymakers to shut the hell up.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, his uncle Albert Edelstein was returning from the kitchen with the exact prize perched on a plate.

"That's mine!" Roderich barked from the bottom step.

His uncle swung his head in a drunken arc and fixed his little eyes upon the creature. "Go back to bed. You're mad, and it's the middle of the night."

"I'm not mad. You give me that cake, or I'll take it from you. It's mine. I saved it for after my supper, and it's mine! It's _mine!" _

"You've eaten nothing but cake for two weeks."

"You've eaten nothing but cake your whole life."

"Excuse me!?"

"Albert? What's all this?"

Ilse Marie Götz crept into the entryway like a frazzled mouse. She placed her hand on Albert's shoulder and jumped when she saw Roderich on the stairs.

"Roddy, you should be in bed."

"So should you," said Roderich. "I'm sick of all this noise. Why can't you go home? If there isn't a will, then there isn't a will. Bureaucracy is stupid and slow anyway."

The lady tugged on Albert's sleeve. "I've got Angry Albert Mendelssohn almost drunk enough to believe me, and Hermann Einhorn Hermannstein and his lackeys are about ready to drop the whole story about Ulrich enchanting Roddy. I almost feel as if we can send them all home and get it all settled in town tomorrow by ourselves. It's a piece of paper! Hardly a legitimate will by itself."

"What do you mean by that?" Roderich asked. "Have you found it? The will?"

Ilse did not smile.

"What does it say? Why wasn't I told about this? How long ago did you find it? A few days? A week? Why isn't it legitimate?"

"It's not a will. It's just a piece of paper we found that says everything belongs to some 'Strauß' if Gertrude can't receive it. There's no _real _will but that."

"Who is Strauß?"

"No one knows, and that's why it's maddening. Now up, up, up you go back to bed. And first thing in the morning, I'm giving you a bath. You're starting to reek like a man."

"No," Roderich said. And with this, he stomped straight between them into the drawing room. Where his precious pianoforte had once stood in the center was now a glassy-eyed man laughing hysterically in the middle of the carpet. He pointed a shaky finger at the newcomer and howled.

"There he is! Get him! Say the magic words and make him tell us where it is!"

"I think we just need his wizard blood," laughed the woman next to him. "He's got the same blood as Ulrich, so he must be powerful."

"That's not how it works. Both of you shut up," said a third man, obviously more sober. He approached the son and gripped his shoulder. Roderich instantly jerked away. "I'm Albert Mendelssohn," he said.

"Angry Albert," chirped his sister next to him.

"Fine. Angry Albert. Don't mind all the Hermanns. At least, we think they're Hermanns. Or Hermannsteins. I think the Einhorn part is made up. It sounds too fantastic to be real."

"I want to see the will," Roderich said. "Show me that piece of paper."

Angry Albert shifted uncomfortably in place. He looked to his sister for assurance, but her face was blank. Albert Edelstein, who had just walked in, was looking particularly miffed. Ilse wore a more concerned expression from her perch behind her in-law.

"Show him," rasped a Hermann.

Angry Albert brought forth the crinkled little paper and handed it to Roderich. "That's all there is," he said. "It's not special at all."

Yet there was definitely something odd about the little note in Roderich's eyes. Perhaps the curve of the eszett or the ghosts of fold-lines past struck some fantastically happy memory, and after staring for a few more seconds, the absurdity of it all came crashing down like the whole of Edelweiss was falling around him.

"What?" His uncle asked.

Cautious and curious and definitely confused, Roderich stepped over to one of the bookcases, where, from the dusty bottom shelf, he withdrew a leatherbound journal. More memories were pulsing now. He thought he remembered the curl of a feather and the sour fold of a pinkish beak…

"_Strauß!" _He exclaimed! "Strauß! It was the name my mother called me when I was very little! B-because she was drawing the family as birds, and I was so skinny and tall for my age she decided to call me Strauß, and look! The way Strauß is written on the note! It's her handwriting, not Ulrich's! She wrote the word Strauß there!"

He held up the journal, and on the yellowed, open page was a smudged little sketch of "_Roddy der Strauß" _standing near a pond with his stubby wings all fluffed and the wispy feathers of his head all dark and curly. His long neck was held high and proud — nothing resembling the current Roderich with his back bent and his legs quivering in surprise.

"Well, if it's not Ulrich's handwriting, it doesn't even matter, then. That's not his will. It must have been a joke on Gertrude's part," said Albert Edelstein.

"Then there's no Strauß, and the obvious heir is me!" Ilse shrieked.

"That can't be a legitimate will for Gertrude."

"Well, it's not legitimate for Ulrich either!"

"Then you don't get anything."

"And neither do you!"

All at once, an explosive amount of arguing broke out, and not even the sensible Angry Albert could pay any attention to the forgotten son of Ulrich, who now stood mesmerized as the will suddenly fused itself to the paper in the journal and was eaten by the illustration of Roddy der Strauß. A nervous frown crinkled the corners of his lips, and his stomach suddenly rejected the idea of Sachertorte, though he raged at his uncle still.

Then the calligraphy of Ulrich Edelstein bubbled up from the paper and floated above the head of the awkward, smiley bird.

_**If I am gone, the black study is open. You will find the ethical will in the appropriate grimoire. **_

Good… good… great… _anything, _could it be? The journal dropped from his hands, and the awkward bird gave a little squawk when the cover pressed down on his feathers again. Roderich's head scurried with noiseless snowy static. The blood pounded in his ears and the breath left his body as he almost tripped running up the stairs. He let go of the blanket cape and watched as it fluttered to the ground motionless behind him. The moonless window swallowed up his footsteps.

_The black study. The black study is open. _Roderich repeated the mantra as he approached the loathsome door. He'd been in this place countless times before, though he couldn't remember each occasion individually. Magic happened in this room — both helpful and terrible magic. Magic that strengthened his bones and magic that accidentally broke them again. Magic that faded and dulled his memories more than Gilbert's ever had. Magic that was never meant to snap him, but to steadily reshape him from a cursed, mad boy into a strong and ruthless young man.

He turned the handle, and the door opened.

"Appropriate grimoire… which one would that be?"

He checked all the potion books he and his father had consulted behind his mother's back. (Or had they?) No, he couldn't question it anymore. Anything that _seemed _muddled in his memory definitely happened. He and his father had definitely turned to potions in hopes of flushing the dark magic out of his hand. And the potions had failed. They never reached his hand. They only churned and bubbled in his stomach until he felt his insides were changing into wax. One night he'd gotten sick on that corner of musty carpet and begged to stop for the night, but there had been two more potions to try, and he'd drunk them because he hated Gilbert and he hated magic and he wanted it all to be gone.

Ruthless. The word was meaningless. Had he been ruthless when trying (and failing) to fight Gilbert? Or had he been ruthless when working to spite the imp in return? With hexes and spells against those malignant flute sonatas he couldn't get out of his ears in the darkest hours of the morning?

Was he ruthless when he ate cake in spite of all the glares from the adults who didn't respect him? Was he ruthless when he gave in to his crushing grief and slept all through the day and halfway through the night? What was ruthlessness? Was it courage? Persistence? A roar in the face of others' distaste and his own internal fear?

Or was it fear itself? The willingness to recognize that he was frightened and scarred, and the willingness to let it all out — to play his heart's true song, and to _know _himself as the bearer of a strength not visible, but tangible all the same?

To know that in a country indifferent, _nothing_ was oppressive or discouraging to any man but the darkening of his own mind?

He found a book with an ostrich-feather binding, and just within the front cover were three perfectly crisp, clean legal documents. The first two were dedicated from Ulrich to Gertrude and from Gertrude to Ulrich, if one should pass before the other. The third was folded into the first two, and Roderich was afraid to look at first, as if it held some curse he could not bear to take.

He saw his name at the top of the document.

And from that name down was the legal and ethical will of Ulrich Edelstein, bequeathing all assets and investments and general knowledge of his lesser-known projects to his younger son.

"It's not real," Roderich snarled. "I'm mad. I'm the sick one. He was always disappointed in me…"

_**...You are a prodigy. You're smarter than either of your siblings, and your right brain functions as well as your left. I would never trust Johannes with anything when my genius son could manage it better… **_

"I'm not a genius. No one tells me that."

_**...Never pity yourself — especially in the presence of others. It is unproductive and makes you look foolish. Cultivate your identity as well as you are able until you are satisfied with yourself, and then immediately turn to cultivating your agency. You were weak in your childhood, but whenever this reaches you, I would hope you became successful in those endeavors you became passionate about. You have my intellect and strength for strategy. Use them. Rise out of your own consciousness and look upon the world as a dependent of yourself. Hiding the will was your mother's idea, and your finding of it was a test of your intellect and will. Now to solve the issue of inheritance, as there are inevitably those who won't believe you are my heir, you must utilize what I haven't seen from you at the time of this writing. Confidence and determination…**_

"I'm not strong enough. I don't want to be strong enough," he told the paper. "I'm not even inspired anymore. I miss… I miss you and mama so much. But I can't break the spell on you. I'm frightened of magic."

_**...Your inheritance should include all my darker artifacts. Whether you use them is your choice, but be wary of the power you could hold. It is far better to be productive in a natural way. Keep your distance from "wizards," and never call yourself one…**_

"I won't trust any wizards. I promise. But... maybe…"

He crept toward the bureau, which was covered in a thin layer of slimy dust from neglect. In the drawer behind, just as he remembered, were the various wands his father had always been polishing. With his left hand, he drew out the favored bluish wand, and with his right, he rubbed and clawed at his aching chest.

With the will in his pocket, and gripping the wand between two fingers, he closed the door to the black study and made his way toward the stairs.

"Roderich?" His uncle crooned from the shadows below. "Where did you take that will? You haven't hidden it, have you? It's no use to you."

"It's every use to me," he called out. "I told you! I am Strauß! I am the heir to Edelweiss!" He tried to sound strong, but his voice grew weaker with every syllable. He couldn't be strong enough. Strength was foolishness, anyway.

"Any one of us could say he is Strauß. A drawing proves nothing."

"Then what does _this _prove?" He asked, now squeaking. He ran toward the stairs, and in an instant was tumbling down step after step after catching his foot on the blanket. His heart seized, and he gasped. A harsh-sounding syllable broke in his throat. He saw his feet and then the carpet and then his feet again, but he never saw the bright cerulean flash that burst from the tip of the wand and shattered the grand bay windows of the drawing room.

A collective gasp rose from the ruckus. Roderich, with a few bumps on his head and new tears in his eyes, regained his footing and pointed the wand at anyone who dared stare at him. His nerves were frazzled and fried. Every fiber of his being was humming and swollen with a swirling cold energy. Fear. No, confidence. No, only adrenalin. Magic? Surely not.

"I am Strauß," he said, pulling the will out of his pocket with a trembling left hand. "I am the heir to everything, and that… that includes all my father's dark spells!"

"Roddy, put that down," Ilse warned.

He went forward, his emotions laboring every new step. The tip of the wand faced his aunt, then his uncle, then Angry Albert and his sister and their dog, then a Hermann, then a Hermann Hermann and a Hermann Hermannstein.

"Get out of my house. All of you. Now."

"Put that wand down immediately," his aunt hissed. It was not a command, but a warning. Her voice was almost motherly, and for a moment, Roderich thought it was the voice of the mother he so missed. But he held the wand firmly and repeated his command.

"Leave. I am Ulrich's living son, and I'm his chosen heir. The rest of you get out."

"You're hardly an heir. You're… you're mad! Who believes him?" Albert Edelstein scoffed from the doorway.

Roderich turned to look at him. He took a deep breath and felt past the pounding of his heart against his ribs. Slowly, he lowered his arm, and his grip on the wand lessened. His purple eyes drifted downwards toward the floor. He spied a place to sit on the carpet, out of the way, and almost lifted one sockless foot to go there.

But he saw that the last slice of Sachertorte had been eaten by his uncle, and faster than he had ever done anything in his life, (which was perhaps not saying much,) he had raised the instrument of the arcane back to its rightful target, and with a word he knew by heart, for it was the only magic he could truly remember, he cast a spell.

There was a great white flash.

Roderich collapsed upon the floor.

And Albert Edelstein never remembered a thing.

* * *

"Now you lead."

Roderich shifted his arms so that his hand was firmly on his auntie Ilse's waist. With a coy smile, he gestured to the right before placing his other on her shoulder and leaning into a new dance. He tripped over his shoes a few times, scoffing as he did so, but once his aunt obliged to his mistakes, he grew smoother and more relaxed in his art. His shoulders lessened their tension, and he brought purple eyes up to glisten at his partner's enjoyment.

They were in the little ballroom of Edelweiss. The silent dance was confusing to Roderich's mind, but he could not be in two places at once. (He was at least very happy the pianoforte was back where it belonged under the patched-up window.)

"Will _any_ lady want to dance with me someday?" He asked, taking a moment to brush a silky strand of hair out of his face. Washed and styled, it was almost fluffy in its gentle bouncing waves. He fancied it was beginning to grow thicker, too, and softer than it had ever felt before.

"You will," said Ilse. "With all this practice, you're becoming a little gentleman right before my eyes, and I know that one day, a very lucky and special girl will think you're the most handsome young master she's ever seen."

"If my nose doesn't get too long and pointy."

"Oh, don't be concerned about your nose."

"It's going to look like a beak. I can already tell."

"Then you'll be unique. A special nose to go with those special eyes."

"I wish I knew why they changed. Could it have been all the… the curses?"

"I know nothing about magic, dear. You'd need a good fairy to tell you that. Now, em, prepare a seat for your lady and play a song for her."

Roderich nodded. When he was seated at the pianoforte, he looked out the window for a few moments. Crystal flurries of snow fizzled through the frozen air. It was much too cold to go outside, but at least the day granted him an amiable sunbeam that warmed his shoulders under his new coat and granted him a mysterious sense of relief. His mood had fluctuated again, from despondent to moderately contented, but he could not make himself consider it.

He straightened up his posture until he was perfectly stiff and dignified, and then he closed his eyes and played and imagined that he was tall and handsome and desired by all the maidens in the land.

* * *

**~N~**

**Strauß = Ostrich! An Austrian Ostrich… from Ӧsterreich. **

**There are some fan theories that Roderich is Jewish because of his surname. I don't intend to confirm this because of the craziness of the AU, but I thought it would be interesting to include the concept of an "ethical will," which is like a letter of good conduct and advice that a father writes for his children. And of course I played around with the names. I hope this is an accurate representation of the sheer and boundless number of Hermanns in Germany. **

**Is this series dark enough yet? Uff da, art mimics life. **

**Next episode: A mysterious magical reaction and an identity under fire! Can Gilbert be a **_**brother? **_

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net 13 February 2020. If you're alone this Valentine's Day, remember pillows don't judge! Don't repost. **


	11. 2:3 Dark Matters

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**11\. Dark Matters**

**On a typical Monday, Gilbert hears something he didn't know he was going to hear… and reacts to it.**

**Theme Music: "Zero Gravity" - Black Gryph0n & Baasik**

* * *

**I.**

As soon as the sun boiled up over the eastern edge to spill its rays down into the Rhein and out across the woods of the western promontory, Gilbert was busy with his twigs.

Every day he gathered them up again and hauled them in a sack up the spiral staircase to the very top of Piyo Tower, where he climbed through a trap door and emerged on the flat, circular stone roof of the place. Then he combined them with the twigs that hadn't been disturbed and reorganized his project all over again.

Gilbert grunted as he let the sack of twigs fall from his shoulders and onto the stones of the roof. He could already feel the bruises blooming on his knobbly knees from crawling around up here. It was his dangerous pleasure — newly bruised knees and raw, red shoulders for each day's little victory.

Bony fingers caressed each twig as it was set into place. Bundles of five twigs he bunched together, and with these he made ten rows before beginning a new column of twig-bundles. One by one, over four hundred twigs were fived and straightened among the others, including one new twig which symbolized the current day of work. Gilbert made the corners of each row and column precise and pristine, and when he was finished, he set to work with the remainder of the twigs to spell out his crude rationale over the rest of the roof's surface.

**FRITZ YOU HAVE BEEN GONE FOR THIIIIIIIS LONG. **

It was always a budding hope in the center of Gilbert's chest — that perhaps today would be the day his mentor remembered him and returned to him with stories and lessons and yummy cakes. Fritz's "mission," as he'd called it, had never been explained to a curious and reckless little changeling. And so Gilbert waited, and watched, and hoped that perhaps this day or the next, Fritz would be at home at his bookshop in Fulchen or here at Piyo Tower ready to give Gilbert an earful for bruising his knees over some cheeky spite.

But Monday was the most typical of days, and so he'd most likely be up here again tomorrow — blanket wrapped around his winter sunburns and bandages padding his knees.

Finished for the day, he descended again to wash his face in the basin and blow the gunk out of his beaky nose. He slapped a muddy potion across his cheeks to moisturize them, then combed the knots out of his feathery white hair and tossed them outside for the birds to use in their nests. Gilbert yawned and examined himself in the tarnished gray mirror he'd stolen from an antique house. Yesterday's dinner and dessert were already gone, and he was gaunt as ever again. His stomach was so tight it almost hurt to breathe.

Well, it wouldn't be that way for long, he thought.

Gilbert swept his eyes over the great pile of oddities thrown about the second floor: blankets, crockery, soap, canned vegetables, hats, coats, trousers, shoes, shaving kits, catalogues, garden tools, decks of cards, three or four copies of the same farmer's almanac, rifles and boxes of bullets, fishing rods, and _far _too many baby clothes!

"That's something Fritz can look at, too. The whole lot of it. Especially the almanacs. At least those give me something to wipe my ass with," Gilbert grumbled, twisting his face in disgust as the warm, bubbling itch spread from his stomach to the tips of his ears. He rocked on his heels as his legs stretched and swelled, and in no time at all, he had grown human again — inside and out.

"Ever-living _Fata, _I gotta wean the kid off of this," he snarled, inspecting the perfect crescent moons of his nails. He'd already ruined the first mirror in an attempt to break Wilhelm's perfect nose, and he wasn't _asking _for charity from all those people. They just kept _giving _him things, and it was so pityingly un-awesome.

A high-pitched mewl rang out from the crib at the far end of the room. Wilhelm scooped up the wiggling child under the armpits and held him close against his chest. His bright blue eyes were as disturbingly shallow as ever. He gave a small cough, then babbled and reached for the loose collar of Wilhelm's shirt.

"Morning, Ludwig. Are you hungry?"

**II.**

"There he _is! _Sweet little boy and his big strong brother! He's getting so big, Wilhelm! Are you sure you can carry him?"

"No, I cannot carry him. He's too heavy now," Wilhelm said, faking a smile. "I want him to get big enough to walk on his own. When do you think that will happen? Another year? He's growing far too slow, and I can't wait that long! Maybe you should just take him off my hands. I wouldn't mind."

"I'm never taking your little angel away from you. You should know that by now. Give him here. My hands are clean. I'll take him back for his breakfast."

Wilhelm handed over the baby and sat himself down on the splintered stool in the corner, gripping the wood with his fingertips and taking in every delicious smell that wafted around the bakery. He could feel the phantom of his shrunken stomach punishing him for waiting. The rolls of a typical Monday morning were already warm and crispy on their pans, and a cake was rising up in the oven. Wilhelm eyed the streaks of batter left in the mixing bowl and shimmied his shoulders. How much could one baby human eat!? The "big strong brother" was hungry too!

When Adela returned from the back room, the lump of Luddy was bouncing on her shoulder and cooing stupidly again. He had a fresh cloth nappy, (as Gilbert had forgone the task again,) and when he entered into Wilhelm's arms the odors of powder and olive oil were rank on his skin. Wilhelm shifted him and refused to look at him, but then he felt that infernal tug on his collar again and was forced to set eyes upon the brutish… little angel.

"Em, the planting season is soon," he said. "This is the second season since Pa got _la grippe_ and Ma gave her soul to Luddy. Going to be hard to do it all by myself again. I don't know how I'll find time to take care of Lud once spring gets here. When _will _he get big enough to walk on his own?"

Adela furrowed her brows and hesitated before cutting another stick of butter. "If you help him learn, he should be walking around very soon. Both my daughters just started, and they're almost two."

"But he doesn't learn anything! He can't even say real words, and he gives Hoffmann and Goethe the same reaction! Could any creature be more stupid? I… I mean... "

The woman's shoulders had stiffened. She bit her thumb nail and furtively eyed the top of the doorframe at the entrance to the bakery before taking a deep breath and continuing on with the butter. "Ludwig is a very normal, healthy baby," she said. "Just keep taking care of him like you have been, and he'll grow up… fine."

"Does Ludwig love me?"

Another hesitation. Then she said, "You've got to stop asking that. Of course he loves you. You tuck him in at night and give him potatoes and apple sauce."

"Yeah, but you give him milk, and he always likes looking at you. He doesn't always like looking at me."

"Do you love Ludwig?"

It was such a simple question, and yet he didn't know how to answer it. _Wilhelm _loved Ludwig. The innocent, indolent orphan of a farmboy walked from his rural homestead up on the promontories down into the village and back at least twice a day just so the boy could have his milk. _Wilhelm _gave his honest effort in everything he did for his baby brother — singing to him, reading to him, giving him tonic for his coughs. But _Wilhelm _wasn't real. As soon as Ludwig was asleep, the muscles of plowing all melted away, and _Wilhelm_ changed into _Gilbert — _a changeling who couldn't tell a trowel from a spade and whose face alone frightened the little one. And he'd _just _begun to love that face…

"Wilhelm dear, take your brother's example and have some milk and porridge for yourself."

Wilhelm stopped the absentminded humming he'd fallen into, and Ludwig dropped out of his quiet trance. He chirped something that sounded like "ba," and _Gilbert's _heart leapt.

He welcomed the breakfast, then paid for it with a spirit ditty on his flute that caused Adela's twin daughters to come waddling into the room with gaping smiles and bundles of flowers in each chubby hand. The visitor tucked more meaningless gifts into his pockets and was about to wish Adela goodbye when Hermann, the paperboy, flew into the bakery looking quite out of breath.

"Oh, hello, Wilhelm! Have you nabbed anything with that new rifle my father bought for you yet?"

"I sure have! A winter stag!" Wilhelm sang. Internally, Gilbert cringed remembering how the iron casings had burned the middle three fingers of his left hand. And he _certainly _did not eat red meat — only the leaner proteins that didn't upset his fair stomach, and _only _if he didn't feel the animal's spirit still hanging around.

"There's a town meeting tonight. Some important foreigner has come to give a lecture. I think it's about home safety."

"Home safety?" Adela asked. She stole the quickest glance at Wilhelm, then busied herself with her oven mitts.

"That's what I heard. I don't know how many people will go, though."

"It might be interesting. I'll go," said Wilhelm. "I'll bring Ludwig, too. What time is it at?"

"Six o'clock," said the paperboy. "A nice way to spend a Monday night."

"It's a typical Monday. Running all over this little radius of the country and educating myself in the evening. I've never felt so full of agency. It seems constant work is the key to constant energy. There's no time at all to feel down!"

**III. **

Wilhelm shuffled along behind the throng of villagers into the round meeting hall at the center of town. A great many had already arrived, though not too many as to fill up the place. He ignored the sympathetic stares he always received from the community and sat with Ludwig plopped in his lap somewhere in the middle of the rows and rows of chairs. It was already dark out, and the world beyond the windows was a brownish-purple haze of slush and melancholy.

Wilhelm gave a more-or-less genuine smile down at his little one. Damn those humans. Without even the help of the Rheinland's finest gnomes, they could make such small and lovely shoes! _Shoes _for the feet of creatures who could neither walk nor speak coherently. He remembered the first time he'd stolen a pair of shoes for himself. They were so comfortable and handsome. He'd been such a fool back then, too. Thinking that to wear a human's shoes and to bear a human name was to cast off everything that made him inhuman and bloom into new, vivacious human life.

Luckily his was an isolated case.

Ludwig was busying himself playing with Wilhelm's fingers. His tiny hands were stronger than they looked. They pinched and squeezed each knuckle, then stroked the skin up until it transitioned to tough nail. Little blond eyebrows were furrowed in an over-serious curiosity. Wilhelm returned the gestures by lightly squeezing Ludwig's hands and then petting his soft head. The little one wiggled and cuddled himself into the crux of his brother's stomach.

_What is any of this for? _Gilbert thought. _He'll grow up eventually, and then he'll grow to dislike me. He already dislikes me. He's just too stupid right now to understand why. Adela won't take him away no matter how much I plead. But… he's so cute right now, like a bird. I can't take it. _

He was so engrossed in rubbing small circles on Ludwig's back like Fritz had once done that he didn't see when a wreath of holly leaves was passed down the line to Adela next to him, and she stuffed the thing into her purse.

The lecturer was then produced, and Wilhelm had no opinion of him. He was a tall-yet-stocky sort, with a bony chin and eyebrows that were stitched too high on his forehead. A large black feather was stuck in the brim of his hat like he had grabbed the costume one instead of his good traveling cap.

He was introduced as a Monsieur Pierre Thomas de la Tour Bonnefoy, a very, very busy knight of Amotoile who had taken the time out of his schedule to tour the western portions of the testy conglomerate in order to inform them of the dire straits the world was truly in. Over on a chair in the corner, his young son "Francis" swung his stockinged legs like an idiot before settling on a leg jiggle with his equally bony chin in the balls of his hands.

_So this guy's gonna talk about home safety? I'm surprised so many came. _

"I regret that I have come here tonight," Monsieur Bonnefoy began in an accent that made him sound like a pencil was jammed up his nose. "I do not intend to alarm any of you, and I do wish I was facing my own responsibilities back home on the same issue, but I must broach the topic of home safety even if it makes some of you uncomfortable. It is okay to feel uncomfortable."

"Baba," Ludwig chirped, suddenly distraught and crinkling his lips.

"What? Hungry? But you just ate."

"Give him the ring," Adela said.

Wilhelm took the loathsome thing out of his pocket — an ivory ring attached to a charm in the shape of a bear. Ludwig grabbed for it, then shoved it in his mouth and nibbled while purring sweetly. Wilhelm bounced him on his knees until he broke into a smile again.

"The statistics have been published in several new journals out of Amotoile," Monsieur Bonnefoy continued, a moderately grave expression on his face and an anxious swiveling of his hips. "Sightings alone have jumped eight hundred percent in rural areas and two hundred percent in cities. Actual kidnappings have jumped tenfold in the past three years, while the number of victims recovered within one to six months of assumed or reported incident has decreased from seven to only five percent."

"Ach, just lock your doors," Wilhelm muttered under his breath.

"He's not talking about burglaries," Adela whispered.

He knew that.

"I will say, to bar criticism, that _all _are at risk, regardless of demographic. But the most prevalent cases my men are faced with have to do with—" Here he took a great, grand pause— "Blond boys under the age of six."

"Hey, that's you, Luddy."

"As of last year, we are living through the worst _infestation _of imps in over two hundred years. We can all agree that this is a vicious attack on humanity. What if you're a _monster, _and you're _heartless,_ and you don't value the rights and life of another living being? You take his shape and his life, but what then? Do you devour him? Make him dumb? Control his mind and send him off into the forest, never to return? I've seen cases of exactly this at rural farms all over Amotoile, and it's we knights who discuss them in order to bring greater awareness to the issue. Your rights are _all _under attack once the imps have set their sights on you."

_Well… Luddy came to me intact, didn't he? _

"In Amotoile, a new wave of legislation is being evaluated that would allow imps to repent for their actions if a good rationale was presented. But that would mean the one who nearly snatched my son away from me five years ago might still be alive. These are ethics. I say no rationale makes sense for the rights of a child to be thrown under the proverbial fairy mound. I say the current train of thought benefits no one but the imps — who care nothing for the feelings of human children. I may be going off on a tangent here, but let me read a few paragraphs, and then let me tell you why it would be much more productive to get on with _branding _these creatures upon discovery, if they have a good enough reason to not be sentenced to death for the theft and mimicry of innocent people…"

Wilhelm's heart fluttered a bit in his chest. He swore he heard his ears pop, and for a moment, there was a powerful surge of something running from his stomach to his heart to the top of his head.

_Danger. Hide. Transform. _

He scooped Ludwig up under the bottom and tilted his chin toward the door of the meeting hall. How easy would it be to leave? He'd left before when these sorts of topics came up. Just left without saying anything. No mess, no fuss.

But the door was at the front of the room, and if he left, they would all see.

They would all know.

If he left, they would know that he disagreed with the current train of thought. But of course, who could possibly disagree? This was a discussion of _human rights. _Of _liberty _and _life. _This was _not _a discussion of changeling rights because changelings were wicked and had all the powers they needed to dominate the weak. Changelings had rights all along, and they were too greedy and selfish to realize it.

Changelings didn't feel pain.

Did he wish to deprive his fellows of liberty and life? To go vivaciously forth as they pleased without the fear of _monsters _taking credit for their every good appearance? Was he a monster himself, disregarding freedom and scorning and hating and, above all, irrationally _fearing _humans? Was he simply _repulsed _and _shocked _and reacting with the greatest _aversion _to a human requesting what rights he was given at birth be recognized? That anyone who should deny those rights was a… a… an _evil _more _evil _than _chicken wizards _and the like?

Ludwig whimpered in Wilhelm's arms. He'd been rubbing the boy's back too roughly, and the fabric of his little jacket was chafing his skin. Chafing like Wilhelm's own, pleasant, agreeable, flawless skin that he wanted to rip and tear away with his claws to reveal the beast beneath.

"Here he is!" His heart wanted to say. "Here is the one who cares nothing for human rights, who only wants to devour those that are 'weaker' and more different from himself and save the world some precious resources. Here he is — the one you are all so annoyed with. You didn't think he was here, did you? How could he be here? He never comes out of his black, slimy pit of evil and ignorance on some dusty planet far away that you can all label generally as "the Evil Planet" and go on with your lives quite nicely distanced. You never thought he lived just under the surface of this friendly country boy because why would he? This country boy has been nice as long as you've known him, and he isn't the sort of person who could be heartless. Why would he be heartless? No one should be heartless — that's _disgusting_. And if he is heartless, then certainly forget about his loves, and his fears, and his feelings, and his accomplishments, and the agency he's come to cultivate about himself these cold, bitter months after so many years being foolish. And _do _call him names."

But Gilbert, within Wilhelm, said none of this, because that would be overreacting, and he was frightened anyway, for it seemed there were so many more of those free humans than changelings in the room, and they were already farther along in the ambitions to snuff him out than was realized. (And anyway, that would be completely off-topic.) So he waited until the end of the lecture half an hour later, and then, like on every other typical Monday, he tromped all the way home and washed his face and his feet and put Ludwig to bed, and then he went to bed himself.

It was okay to feel uncomfortable, but not for the wrong reason.

**IV. **

It was the natal hours of Tuesday now, and in some half-asleep stupor, Gilbert the changeling wiped another swath of hot tears from his cheeks. His tight stomach seized even tighter, and his throat was clogged up with half-choked sobs. He was not allowed to cry loudly, for that would raise suspicion for the other sleeper in the room — the one who seemed to be a whole universe away in the world of beautiful dreams. If he quieted himself, Gilbert could hear the tiny sighs of Ludwig over in his crib, and he was comforted at once. Still, he kept remembering that question, over and over again.

"What if you're a _monster, _and you're _heartless?" _

He couldn't understand it. Why should he remember? He was strong. He was fearless. He was independent. Just like he was _supposed _to be.

"Why is it so hard?" He whispered wetly. "Why can't I just move on? I _am _a changeling. I was born a changeling, and I will always be a changeling, and that's what makes me special. That's what Fritz said."

_You may be proud of yourself, but you'll always be alone. No one can love you. You're loathsome and offensive. Why should anyone love you? You're the antithesis to love. You haven't found anyone to love you thus far, so you'll never find anyone ever. There's an ugliness inside of you that will frighten everyone away if you show it. That was only confirmed tonight. No one in that room felt as you do. How could anyone? _

"Eliza…" he reasoned with himself.

_Eliza would not love you. She's human. She's on everyone else's side. If she saw you for what you truly are, she'd never want to kiss you. _

"No, that can't be true. I don't want it to be. Fritz is out there! Fritz loves me! He believes in me! He's just…"

Gilbert got his coat and boots and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Then he climbed up to the third floor and onto the trap door. He emerged under a brilliantly dull blanket of gray-black clouds that nearly darkened the entire forest. Only a bit of moonlight could bleed through the cotton and illuminate Gilbert's freshly-molested twigs. The birds had had their pick again, and the rows and columns were ruined.

And the message read:

_**Gilbert, I am gone. **_

He stared at it for a couple of moments, and then he hummed so a soft red globe of light bloomed between his hands. The twigs were the same way he'd placed them in the morning, and yet all he could read was the new message.

"Fritz… no. No, Fritz, you're not gone. You're coming back!"

A chill wind froze Gilbert's poor ears. He placed both bony hands upon the twigs and hummed in his throat, straining to resonate with whatever magic was leftover from the illusion. The voice of Nature buzzed in his ears, and he listened and listened and listened, but could hear nothing. He caught only a few bright sparks of invisible magic before they sifted through his fingers and were gone forever. Sparks of pure darkness — Fritz's, but not. Alive, but not. Strong, but not.

Gilbert sat himself on the edge of the tower and stared for uncountable minutes down at the vast, gray eternity of the forest.

He hated the gray, and then he hated himself for hating it.

"His spirit wrote that," he said finally. "But he's gone somewhere else now. And of course he didn't tell me how or when he left in the first place. He came back and didn't care. I… I don't have to leave the message for him anymore… But my work, my agency… What am I supposed to do? If I can't distract myself all the time, then I start thinking about this and that, and I get bored and frustrated that I'm not being productive, and then I'm all like this again. I can't do _anything, _and no one would listen, anyway."

After a while, he picked himself up again. Some strange idea had been brewing in the back of his mind. He was going to do _something _about all of this. He _had _to something, or he'd be nothing but a pouty, whiny loser.

"Maybe it's all true, then. Maybe I am a monster and heartless. And _so _what if I'm a monster and heartless?"

He opened the trap door to Fritz's dusty wizard lair.

"Maybe I am doomed to be lonely forever."

He took his mentor's black and blue wizard robe from its hook and tied it around his waist. The hood dropped pleasurably over his face, concealing even his overlarge ears and beaky nose so only his grin could be seen.

"Maybe I really do _hate_ and _fear _humans with some irrational aversion. They... they made me _cry."_

He played Ludwig into a sleep so deep he wouldn't need his milk for a few days.

Gilbert stood on top of the tower with the robe and his flute case in each hand. His pathetic chest swelled nervously in the winter wind, and his tight stomach quivered in the cold.

"Maybe I matter."

He dove off the edge of his fortress and stretched his arms until they transformed into wings.

**V. **

Gilbert looked upon the village before him. It was a place of peaceful ignorance — only edging along the lines of potential offense. A few pairs of iron scissors were hung above door frames with their open blades glinting in the misty-pinkish glow of morning, and strings of holly and wolfsbane were made into wreaths upon the thresholds, but these were only ornaments, and in the colors of dew they glistened like the fruits of some long-exhausted holiday — inviting and proud.

Oh, to _shame_ the dangerous pleasure! He said,"Enough of all that nonsense," and used a spell to cut the scissors from the door frames so they couldn't fall and hurt anyone who lived in the houses. Then, in eagle form, he placed himself at the center of a village street and screeched and crooned in his sirenic tones until a few sleepy patrons emerged to see what was making such a ruckus. A quick change in the bushes later and he was swaggering down mainstreet playing the sweet, sweet curses he'd so often inflicted on poor, sick little Roddy.

Gilbert smirked under the hood of his robe. He wiggled his hips and played a funky little flourish, and a woman's nose popped and shriveled into a hard, pointed beak. He kicked his legs out in an outrageous march as he pounded the notes of a curse to make men sound like chickens and women like geese. He twirled on his heels with one long tremolo spinning off into eternity, and with the cricking and cracking of bones, Gilbert indulged in that pleasant feeling once again — they said he had the power, didn't they?

"This is _so _my thing!" He cackled as he watched the disfigured townsfolk hobble around and try grabbing for him with pear-shaped bodies and feathery hands. He skipped nimbly out of their way and bopped them on the heads with the end of his flute like it was his magic wand. His mischievous instincts were on fire. He could _see _the crimson sparks dancing at the edges of his vision and _feel _them swirling and merging into flowers of fire within. His bony fingertips sparked and flashed, lighting up the bright purple veins throbbing under his skin.

"I am the Dark Wizard Gilbert!" He cried out as he had done in countless cities that night. "And there's no good rationale for my wrath! I'm powerful beyond what your mortal brains could even process! I am _ancient,_ and tonight I finally _rise _to find the splendor of youth! Fear me! All of you! On your knees! _On your knees!_ Come on! I don't hate you!"

His paper chest swelled as he watched the grotesques bend on quivering knees before him. An ecstasy like he had never known before, (unless pumpkin-related,) was at all corners of his being and extending beyond, into the electric fibers of his spirit.

"Now away with you! Pitiful, ugly creatures! Put your tail feathers where I can't see them. That's it. Back into the houses. You don't want even more indigestion, do you?"

The final door closed, and Gilbert congratulated himself. He'd flown in a huge arc, perhaps around the whole testy conglomerate, and though he couldn't remember how long he'd been gone or how many places he'd visited, he knew that in his troubled angst, he _hadn't _been to Edelweiss.

Fritz would be so proud of him.

He wrapped his long fingers under the fabric of his hood and was about to pull it back when a greenish flash of light zinged past his shoulder. He stiffened, then turned.

_She _stood there.

"Leave," Eliza said. "Leave and never come back here. Never curse anyone here again."

A long wooden wand was poised in her hand. She pointed it directly at his nose, keeping her lips tight against her teeth and her green eyes fixed on the evil before her. Her nightgown was edged with muck from the slushy ground. Her wild hair was brushed smooth. She looked… civilized. She looked _human. _

"I don't believe you're ancient," she said, stepping closer. "You're not immortal if your hands look like they've been trapped underground for a hundred years. All your wicked magic has turned you _ugly." _

"Looks don't matter!" Gilbert snapped back. "What matters is power! Perhaps I am ugly under this robe, but with it on, you still fear me! Life would be so much simpler if we could _see _each other's true appearances, wouldn't it? Easier to pick out who's good and who's bad with just a glance."

Eliza strengthened her grip on the wand. "And which one are you?"

Gilbert's laugh caught in his throat. He thought of everything he could say to this.

_I'm bad because that's what I'm supposed to be. _

_I'm good, but not in the right way. _

_I'm bad because I like it. _

_I'm good because you're bad… _

And all at the same moment he wanted to fling off the robe and just _show _her and let her judge for herself, but he was so frightened, and martyrdom was so unawesome, but he remembered first setting eyes upon her and loving her smile and her kindness, but she couldn't see him back then, and he'd only lied…

_No, I can't let her see me now. Just let her see evil now. One day, when I'm not frightened anymore, I'll show her my face without the robe… _

"I'm evil of course! Evil as a… chicken wizard! Now bye-bye, witchy girl!"

She told him her name was Elizaveta, but by that time he was already deep within the trees shedding the ugliness and replacing it with strength and fearlessness and independence.

**VI. **

Gilbert collapsed on his unmade bed. The unmade bed annoyed him. The unclean room annoyed him. His unwashed hair annoyed him. His unproductive life annoyed him. There had once been a time when he was content to lie on the floor doing nothing all day. Whatever had happened to it? Now it was all busy-busy-busy and no time to relax, lest he feel useless.

Yawning, he pushed himself up and went over to Ludwig's cradle. The boy was still sleeping like a little brutish angel under his dachshund-patterned baby quilt. His blond bangs draped like the fluffiest of flowers on his forehead.

Gilbert folded his arms on the crib and watched the little one for a while. Chubby little hands were so relaxed among the fluffy sheets. Each tiny puff of breath entered the air with the sweetest sigh. Little feet, now just in perfectly dainty socks, peeked out from the bottom of the quilt and twitched in the awe of infant dreams.

"Luddy, I… Shit, you've been here for over a year, and I don't want to get rid of you anymore. But you can't stay here. I'm supposed to be alone. Fate took Fritz away from me, and I can't live with a human. I curse humans. I decided that's my purpose. I… I think I've become what they want me to be. Finally. And it feels so good. But you have to understand that means I can't take care of you forever. Even though I…"

Ludwig wiggled, then opened his eyes and looked right up into Gilbert's face. Gilbert stumbled back alarmed. Then he peeked back over the edge of the crib and prepared for the worst.

"Baba," Ludwig chirped.

"Hungry? Ring? A story? What this time? I'll, em, just wait. I have to change—"

"Babababa!"

"You're impatient today! I suppose you're extra hungry!"

A pressure.

Gilbert peered slowly down, and he saw that clasped in Ludwig's hand was the edge of his collar, which hung so low as to run round his chest instead of his neck. The little one tugged and pulled, giggling with stupid glee.

"Baba!"

"Luddy! You're not afraid of me?"

He brought his left hand down to squeeze Ludwig's tiny fingers. Ludwig locked onto the bony knuckles in an instant and shared a gummy smile.

"But how do you… you recognize my voice, don't you? You understand. You know it's me. You know it's your big brother, Wi—Gilbert."

"Bwa-da!"

At this, the warmest feeling seeped through Gilbert's every nerve and cell. All the ice of his heart and all the darkness of his mind at once heated and melted and muted. He could very well be in the greatest meadow of spring with the spirit of joy at his side, rolling and rolling and rolling in the grass 'til he was all tired out and smiling. _Smiling. _

With stringy arms, he strained until he was shaking to pick up the little one and carry him against his chest. Then he pursed his cracked, scarred lips and kissed Ludwig right on the tip of his nose.

"I love you, Luddy, and I will do everything in my power to love you and protect you from the evils of this world. This is your home."

Ludwig squealed and pulled Gilbert's ears, and Gilbert melted completely.

Perhaps he was never frightened at all.

* * *

**I swear this is the last angsty one (for a little bit.) Though I know my nightly-checking Canadian Hermann won't care…**

**-Gnomes - The Heinzelmännchen are a race of little gnomes from Cologne who are said to do all the townsfolk's work during the night - as long as they are treated well.  
****-Hoffmann and Goethe - Heinrich Hoffmann published **_**Der Struwwelpeter,**_ **a collection of illustrated children's tales, in 1845. They run a bit dark, but what German children's tale doesn't? Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, is, of course, the author, epic poet, and philosopher of the 18th Century, whose topics are much more mature than "gRoOm yOuRsELf oR peOpLE wOn'T LIkE yOU!"  
****-Do you like my "mini-chapter" approach to line-breaks? I feel like it makes them more pronounced. Inspired by some of the short novels I've read for class. **

**Next episode: Roderich invites a rumored "miracle man" to come rid him of his past and present nightmares...**

**Published by Syntax-N March 8th, 2020. However you are, you matter. Eat oranges. The only thing worse than a chicken wizard is a reposter. **


	12. 2:4 Hopelessly Eccentric

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**12\. Hopelessly Eccentric**

**Roderich invites a rumored "miracle man" to come rid him of his past and present nightmares. But rumors and reality don't always match up. **

* * *

**A careless shoe-string, in whose tie  
****I see a wild civility:  
****Do more bewitch me, than when art  
****Is too precise in every part. **

— **Robert Herrick**

* * *

Roderich thought he would die of disgust.

"It wore my daughter's clothes and used her comb. You can't blame me if I wanted to whack it against the lamppost a few times on the way over here. There's not _too_ much blood."

The young notary knuckled the bridge of his spectacles and sniffed with his thin, delicate beak of a nose. He looked from the imp's grotesque true form to his clipboard. Jargon appeared before his vision, and he swam through it as smoothly and expertly as when he carved through seas of f minor. At the bottom of the page was a thick black line, on which he carelessly scribbled his signature. Then he turned the clipboard to the most disheveled of store clerks out of Birngarten and motioned to several smaller lines.

"Sign here and here, then date it here. Provide a brief description of the incident here. It doesn't have to be specific. They don't care. You will then fold it _this way," _he said, emphasizing it with a spreading of his fingers as he pressed the two edges lightly together, "and send it to the Office of Magical Regulations and Disturbances within two business days. Do _not _send it to the Office of Magical Affairs. If you have a complaint, do not write to me or to the Office. Bring it up with the patrol. Now take care of that travesty and good day."

He shooed the clerk and his sack out the door and shut it with a grimace. It was the second imp that morning. At least the gentleman had had the patience to wait until Roderich was dressed, but he insisted on the notary taking a long, hard look at the _thing_. It made him too squeamish to think about now. Breakfast would be a bland egg and tomato again… and perhaps a pastry if he could sneak one from behind auntie Ilse's back. Lately she'd been monitoring his sweets like an owl, and if she caught him with pastries anywhere but already down his throat, he would have to spend another afternoon with her crocheting club.

Service in the morning and penance anon. And _still _he was cursed!

"I am visiting a dear ill friend," she announced when he was halfway through his lumpy bed of eggs. "Steiner will accompany me. The nanny is here for Otto. You are to keep receiving the gentlemen for your notarial duties. It's a pity Birngarten has finally succumbed. I never thought it would travel this far. They've closed the schools and all the places of worship, and that was a bee in the bonnet what with all the house calls. I can't even buy salt!"

"Well, we'll have to deal with all the salt flying off the shelves and into the garden beds. This infestation travels everywhere. Haven't you read what's happened on the Isle of Rain? The Queen's Council has just passed a movement to ban all uses of high-energy magick, effective end of April. Even the sprites can't stand the imps."

"Do I have to wonder what you're reading all the time? You seem too often interested in foreign affairs."

"Foreign magical affairs only, milady. A pity the Confederation hasn't yet ratified any sort of general statutes. The infestation has tripled its intensity, and I'm just one notary out of a half-dozen in our sorry state. Children are missing. People are hanging scissors above their door frames like they're the victims of the month. Everything's falling apart."

Ilse smirked, her crooked teeth gleaming beneath chewed, wrinkled lips. "The vocabulary of politics! I never thought I'd hear anything of the sort out of your mouth! You're growing into such a fine young master."

Roderich's eyebrows pulled together in that ever-flustered glower. "All young people like politics."

"It's the interest you need," Ilse said, drinking in every delightedly prim and proper word her nephew could dream up.

The past year and some had been painful, what with his bouts of silliness on all fronts. He once spent all day in bed, and now he studied and practiced the piano and accompanied her on excursions and earned his stipend as a notary signing official extermination forms. He'd balked at _that _for so long, and finally he could look upon an imp without screaming or crying or gagging or completely shutting down — only if the thing was dazed, of course. And to hear he was putting his duties so high up in his priorities was simply the most miraculous and marvelous thing she could hear!

Presently, one of the new maids ducked her head in the breakfast room and announced that a visitor had arrived. It was the "miracle man" Roderich had requested, and he was eager to see the young master.

"Miracle man!?" Ilse spat. "What about a 'miracle man?' What for?"

Roderich didn't duck his head, though the faintest rose bloomed in his cheeks. "I had heard rumors that a "miracle man" was about in Birngarten. A man who understands things we can't see. I wanted him to see about the house."

"The house is not haunted, Roderich, for the thousandth time! I will not let you entertain those fancies anymore!"

"It's merely a consultation—"

"We'll see about a consultation! You know rumors are no way to get your information, especially concerning the, the _occult!"_

"God, you sound like my mo—"

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything?"

The two of them looked to the door, where the most normal of middle-aged gentlemen stood idle. His coat was pristine, his shoes were buffed, and his mustache was freshly waxed and combed. No wands or herbs or potions were visible on his person, and he neither smelled strange nor radiated any need for alarm. He removed his traveling cap and looked confusedly between the two.

"May I help you?" Ilse growled.

"Yes, I'm looking for a Lord Edelstein? Or a Master Edelstein? He requested me."

"That's me, and I'm neither lord nor master. I'm merely a notary," said Roderich. "You're the miracle man?"

"Indeed," said the miracle man, though his graying eyebrows shot up in the air at the sight of his client.

"Good. Thank you for coming. Let us go out to the garden and discuss what's to be done about the house."

"If you say so."

Roderich immediately left his seat and led the way, his beak in the air and his hands unshaking at his sides. The miracle man followed, and Ilse was ready to follow after, but her friend Herr Steiner had arrived to accompany her to the poor ill soul, and she could only pitch a fit for a little while before her compassion compelled her.

"I half-despise that woman," Roderich said when she was half a mile down the road. "I could manage on my own, but she still lives here and feeds me tomatoes and ties my sleeves too tightly. Not to mention her attitude is a plague in the community, and now that there _is _a plague… I just… I just… you're... "

The miracle man was _twinkling _in the sunlight. His face and form shimmered and flickered like he was only half present. Like he wasn't real. Like he was _ghostly. _Instantly, Roderich's arms flew into position — one shielding his face, the other shielding his stomach. His breath caught in his throat, then exploded into a rush of panicked heaving. His pounding heart consumed him, and for a moment, he knew nothing but the blood in his ears.

"Go away," he choked out. "Not now. Not here. Not… not now. Do it later."

"What's eatin' you all of a sudden? It's okay."

He peeked through the cracks of his long fingers. The smudged spectacles blurred his vision again, so he furtively nudged them down so he could peer over the top of the lenses. He couldn't see the miracle man anymore, and the voice had _changed. _It was higher and fuller and _grittier? _Like one of the wild hinterland rather than a modest traveling man in Birngarten. That accent…

Something much too warm and strong removed his hand from his face, and then he screeched.

"You're! Where!? Where did you come from!?"

"Don't get upset. They all act like this. I'm the same person. I just took off my disguise."

"Changeling! Creature of darkness!"

"No, no, I'm not one of _them. _It was just a disguise. It looks more professional, right?"

Roderich narrowed his eyes and swallowed a great glob of spittle that burned in his throat. He shouldn't be screeching. That was undignified, he could hear his aunt saying. Instead, he took in what he could of his guest. Long, flowing hair. Flushed cheeks. Delicate neckline. Big green doe eyes.

A… a chest… a nice chest… Wow.

"You're a _girl!"_

"You're a _boy!" _She shot back.

"Yes I'm a boy!"

"Sure, but when I heard 'Master Edelstein,' I thought I would be seeing another stooped old grandfather. How old are _you? Twelve?" _

"I'm fifteen. Never mind that I'm small."

"Well, I'll be seventeen in June. Never mind that I'm not what you expected. Sorry for startling you, but 'witch' never sounds good in anyone's mouth around here. 'Miracle man' is more alluring, right?"

Roderich just stared at her. She wore _trousers _and _hunting boots _and a _greatcoat, _and her wild chestnut hair was pulled into a tight braid on top of her head. A heart-shaped silver locket around her neck was the most feminine thing about her, save for her legs and chest, which were far too accentuated by the trousers and the bodice of her dress. It appeared she'd snipped off and hemmed the skirt of it. The slightest pink of her waist peeked out above the belt.

What in all the world _was _this!?

"Elizaveta Héderváry," she said, offering her hand forth. "Freelance witch. Well, freelance in the sense that my father kicked me out of the house after that wizard turned his toes into chicken claws. I'm showing him that magic can have its good uses. I can do most basic spells and charms, and I've mastered the basics of potionery. And I can _definitely _reason with most evil spirits and creatures!"

Roderich's mouth finally closed. "Magical creatures? Good. You have to help me protect myself from an imp."

"An imp? I thought you were a notary."

"All that means is I serve as witness to a captured imp and sign for its execution. I hate imps myself. I hate magic, too, unless it's useful. Now come with me upstairs. With my aunt out of the house, we can set up in the Black Study. You tell me what you need, and I'll try to provide it."

But Eliza didn't move. She only looked closely at the paling skin and the right hand which was beginning to lose its composure and tremble with a mind of its own.

"I'm a busy man. Come along."

"You're not a man," she said, "and you're extremely stressed. Look, despite the panic, I don't have much experience with imps. Will you at least explain to me your problem before you begin treating me like a tool? I've just barely introduced myself."

"Wh… I... " He stopped, then shoved his shaking hand in his coat pocket. Why rush? This was just a lady, after all, and he knew how to treat ladies. It was the suddenness of her arrival that drew him away from composure, and she was almost his age, too. And why rush a discussion on his past and present nightmares when a lady needed—

"Pastries! Let me get us some pastries! Do you like coffee, too? I can get us both."

"Both will do. Thank you, Master Edel—"

"Roderich. It's Roderich."

"How about Roddy? That's easier to say."

The thickening eyebrows slanted, and the broadening shoulders stiffened. "Fine," said a voice that was sounding more and more like a duck's.

* * *

"Will you keep it still, please?"

"It doesn't like that."

"_It _doesn't like this? Are you sure this isn't a possession? Body parts can be possessed. I have way too much experience there."

"No, no, it's not possessed. It's just cursed, and _stop that! _It _hurts!" _

He was stretched out on one of the sofas in the drawing room — the dusty rose one with beads his aunt insisted on buying when it was far too cold and boring last winter. A plate which had once held three large strudels lay on the table next to him, and for some wild and inexplicable reason his conscience _insisted _that he suck in his bulging stomach whenever Eliza looked at him. Never mind the fact that she'd prodded him there a few times already with her wand and discovered how soft it was.

She was now kneading and massaging his right hand in every which way. "This would be easier if I were a fairy magician, but I can tell you've had trauma here. The knuckles are swollen, and this bit of skin is stretched. Aaand…" She stuck her wand right in the crease between his thumb and fingers and twisted it until whatever weird energy circulating within made the muscles burn and the skin pinch in places. Roderich fought back a wail.

"Hold still!"

"_Stop at once!" _

But she had seized his wrist fast, and drawing back the tip of her wand, she pulled a thick cable of glowing red thread from his palm. It was horribly tangled like a birds' nest filled with hair, and when it sparked and burned the fingers above, Roderich was almost back to full panic mode.

"Pull it all out!" He whined. "Just get it out if that's what you're doing!"

Eliza shook her head, blowing those soft-looking untrimmed bangs out of her face. "It's only the shadow of what's going on inside. That's why curses are so difficult. A normal spell is a… sorry. That's hurting you, isn't it?"

She flicked her wand, and the cable turned to a dull red line of smoke. Then she waved it over Roderich's burned hand and chanted a few words. The hot places cooled and closed, but Roderich insisted on sucking his fingers — before he saw her looking at him and wiped them on his trousers. God, _what _was happening? It had been so unexpected.

Those green eyes looked at him earnestly, as if he were a petulant child who couldn't sit still. "All spells are energy that is bent and shaped until it doesn't act like normal energy anymore," she said. "So you can have a spell that makes plants grow much faster than usual, or a spell that makes things float. A _curse, _on the other hand—"

"It binds itself to whatever it's affecting. I know. Do you have any idea how many times I've tried to get rid of this thing? It's fused itself with the flesh. I have a magic hand."

"What have you tried?"

"Potions, mostly. Some rituals. But it's _imp _magic, you see. From a _music-casting imp." _

"I thought only winged fairies could music-cast."

"There were two winged fairies left with that power, and one has been dead two years. I hear plenty of wingless fairies have it now. And imps, apparently. This imp has it. So it's imp magic, which is why nothing seems to work on it. It's weird even by magical standards."

Eliza pursed her lips and scrutinized him for a minute. Then she shoved her wand into his stomach again and murmured something that made him want to cough up his strudels.

"No lasting damage, luckily. You want to be _extremely _careful with potions. They affect the fragile organs first."

"So I've learned."

"How have you learned, anyway? Just who are you? You've been a lot more polite than the other ones I wanted to reveal my true appearance to. You're all by yourself, and you know more about magic than all of Birngarten combined. Most of them think imps and fairies are the same thing."

"They are the same thing. Magical cousins. One is just naturally inferior."

"I was testing you. You know a lot about magic for someone who hates it."

"One finds himself obsessing over his hatred."

She screwed up her face and smirked. "Your parents weren't killed by magic, _were_ they?"

"Yes. Them and all the relatives I actually liked. Except my cousin Otto, but he's only a toddler. He _bites."_

"He bites?"

"He bit his first nannie's… her… when she tried… _feeding him _once… It was so funny."

She shifted away, and he was forced to focus somewhere else.

"You're really a tragic twelve-year-old, then. I didn't know people like you could exist in real life. But I suppose that wizard did come into my village and disfigure two dozen people. We live in a strange world."

"I'm fifteen," he insisted.

"You are hopelessly eccentric."

There was a pause. Roderich blinked, then gave a little sniff and eyed his uncouth visitor. Uncouth? Was that the right word? Certainly unexpected, what with her flair and pretense, and moreso with her behavior in the last hour. But calling him eccentric? _Him? Hopelessly eccentric?_

"Would you like anything more to eat?" He asked. His mouth had gone dry. This girl, this woman before him, a woman he had never seen in his life, _visiting _him and _talking _to him about things _he actually liked. _

Well, didn't like.

No, a woman the _likes of which _he had never seen in his life talking to him about things he actually liked. A woman who wasn't wrinkled in the face or beneath him or too out of range to be interesting. A woman who understood him, to an extent…

She must have noticed he was staring. From her satchel, she drew out a small volume of runes and a polished gray stone. Her eyes grew huge, and her lips pulled into an awkward smile.

"I'm fine, thank you."

* * *

They had moved to the Black Study, which was unbearably hot even in mid-March. Now Roderich wished he could take this lady outside where she could admire the tulip buds and the wisteria starting to revive its snaking tendrils about the foundation. The sun was out against the bluest of blues, and though he could observe a wind moving briskly through the aspen leaves, he knew a walk in the sun would put the warmth back in his bones after such an anxious winter. Sunshine on his dark hair was always the most excellent feeling.

"_Now here's a curse from my old pal Wiggly Wormsworth! It'll make you cold for eternity!" _

Roderich clenched his jaw in annoyance. He'd forgotten this room had the power to make his memories real.

"Cover that window. Light particles disturb the process," Eliza called from the center of the room.

Roderich shut the curtains and climbed down off his stool. He looked to where she was mixing a potion in a cauldron only about the size of her fist in the fireplace. She fixed the logs snugly around it, and a few sparks wafted up a chimney that hadn't seen fresh smoke in a number of years.

Oh, if Ilse saw them now! Roderich with a hinterland _witch! _She always warned him of witches. Horrible, rotten women who could eat more children than an imp in one sitting and sit fat as frogs until more came along. That was what _she _said, anyway. But Roderich, whose mind was already back to its usual fantasies, disregarded the eating part and settled on other aspects of the scene which he preferred better.

Such as the way the witch had _excellent _curves, and _god, _what was _wrong _with him today!?

"So all of this was your father's?"

"All of it. He started collecting books when he was your age. He'd never call himself a wizard, though. He was more of an enthusiast."

"There's always that issue with titles. It's like there are two types of people — the ones who introduce themselves with titles and the ones who just tell you their names. The ones with titles are weaker in spirit and have to compensate."

"Which one are you?"

"No one but Eliza. And you're just Roddy."

He pursed his lips. "Just Roddy" didn't sit right in his stomach. He'd been Just Roddy all his life, and he'd finally like to see himself as something other than a mama's boy.

"Roderich," he said.

She looked like she was going to say something, but shook her wild head like a mare and focused on the mixture. Then she spooned some into a little clay cup and offered it to him.

"Drink. It will make the ward stick to your body and prevent all the salt from poisoning you."

"Are you sure this is safe?"

"Don't take me for some hinterland hedgewitch. I know my stuff."

With trembling fingers, he put the cup to his lips and drank it all in one gulp. She refilled it, and he repeated. It tasted not of sulfur and tar and artificial fragrance like Ulrich's potions, but of apples and blueberries and sugar. It was as if all the most delicious pastries had been liquefied and concentrated into this warm little brew. The potion was so delectable he hardly noticed the familiar dull ache and groan of his insides as they reacted to magic. No great pain struck him this time — only a satisfying tingle floating through his body like a cloud of feathers that turned off his brain.

And in that moment, he understood why he'd been feeling so nervous the whole time. It was so easy to see. Eliza was a beautiful woman, and he'd never seen a beautiful woman before, and he wanted to have her for… something. Something exciting. Or, at the very least, a nice walk in the gardens. That was what his parents liked. Because the way she parted her hair from her face made him want to stroke it himself. He wanted to hug her and hold her and tell her all of his secrets and ask her to stay for a while and keep him company because he _needed _her and—

"Hey, don't go buggy-eyed. It's not even that strong. _Wow, _you've got a weak tolerance. Focus and wrap your right hand in this saline-soaked cloth. If you're sure that's the only live curse in your body, we can't risk it reacting with a new spell."

He fumbled with it, so she made sure it was wrapped and tied up tightly. Their gazes met, and a warm, wide smile crossed the foolish little master's face.

"You're _beautiful, _Eliza, and it's making me feel so strange."

"Thank you, but I don't like little pretentious creeps. Let's start putting this ward on you. It's going to sting a little bit, but not more than a bug bite. You're going to be very thirsty afterwards because I'm imbuing you with a net of salt suspended by magical energy. Changeling magic can't penetrate large amounts of salt. Over the next few weeks you'll need to drink lots and lots of water. You'll need to crave water like you crave pastries, okay?"

Roderich nodded. He was squirming in place like a child now, and blushing whenever she touched him. Had she… no, she definitely hadn't used the rosehips for flavor this time. She'd used apples, which were the _weakest _of infatuants. Oh dear, but combine them with _blueberries,_ and take into account how stuffy and old-fashioned this manor was, the relic of his aunt included…

God! He was staring at her cleavage!

"Close your eyes," she growled.

He did so before stumbling onto his knees. His cheeks had gone completely pink, and he was rubbing his knuckles along his cheeks with a harrowing revelation of all that had just transpired. Eliza helped him sit up with crossed legs. She bolstered him in place with a few cushions and folded his hands under his bottom. Then she took a long silver chain and spread it out on the floor around him in a great circle.

"This will feel cold," she said. She opened the rune book to a character that pulsed with an indigo light. The polished gray stone was pressed onto the character, and the light was transferred to its smooth underside. Eliza then parted the flaps of Roderich's shirt, (he was _not _happy about this,) and pressed the stone into his sternum. When she drew back, the rune now flickered on his skin with tongues of an intangible fire.

The circle around him was filled with salt until he sat in a layer half an inch thick. Then Eliza stood with her back against the black door. She raised her wand and started to chant something in her own gritty native language. Tendrils of emerald light wrapped around her fingers and swirled about the wand until they condensed and brightened at its tip. Light then burst forth in multi-colored threads that shimmied through the air like feathers as they made their way to the boy in the circle.

Roderich watched and waited anxiously. The warmth of the potion had dissipated. He couldn't even remember its taste. An intense stinging was filling every pore. For a brief moment, he opened his eyes and saw the salt around him beginning to rise and shoot toward his exposed skin. It coated his hands, then tickled as it flowed up his sleeves to cover him everywhere else. Each little cubic crystal bound itself to the others in diamonds and triangles before shrinking down and melting into his skin like a durable mesh. It was like something clicked inside him. This was _correct _magic. Not painful nor strange.

The stinging and burning intensified, then ceased. Roderich fell over, skin pale as death and head aching. The ward was in place. He could feel a heaviness in his body, like a shield had flexed itself into his shape. The wet cloth fell away from his hand, leaving a crusty white sheen of salt. His shirt was sticky, and his hair was falling out of its perfect configuration.

"Here. I've got some water for you. Feeling okay?"

Eliza came to sit by him. He propped himself up against her, then tried to scooch away again. She pulled him close and handed him a full canteen, which he quaffed until the whole front of his shirt was soaked from spillage.

"Thank you so much," he huffed. "Now I'll be ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For when he comes back and I see his smugly smirk wipe itself off his face."

She cocked her head and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Em, I know I just met you, but isn't that a little extreme? You _are _hopelessly eccentric, and not in a quaint way. It's almost like you _want _him to visit you again, just so you have more to be angry about."

"I'm surprised I can conceal just how incredibly angry I am."

The way he spoke made Eliza bite her lip and want to laugh and cry at the same time. Maybe he was fifteen, but she'd been fifteen once, and that was not the end of maturity. Dealing with the things he was talking about… especially if they were real and not the products of a lonely, grieving boy's imagination… she couldn't bear to see him taking on some evil when all he had was this room of dangerous magick and some half-baked, imitation confidence. She imagined with horror Roderich trailing his fingers along the spines of these old, curse-filled tomes and accidentally turning himself to dust.

"It sounds odd, anyway. He doesn't want to swap with you even in these times?"

"No, my father hired some of my uncle's archers to execute him, but he survived, and now he's bent on revenge. So I guess I'm bent on revenge, too. Can I have some more water? Er, _may _I?"

_You poor, poor, weird baby. _

She flicked her wand, and a fresh stream filled up the canteen. He took it and drank.

"Er, I'm so sorry about earlier. I said really stupid things. You're not… you _are _beautiful, but I'm not supposed to tell you that, am I? It's undignified."

"It was the potion. It shocked your system a bit."

It wasn't just the potion. Roderich knew it.

"I've truthfully never met anyone like you before."

"You've never met a pretty girl before?"

He coughed. "No, it's not that! I've never… I've never felt a connection like this."

"You've never had a _friend." _

At this, he outright laughed, tugging at his stockings and rubbing the toes of his shoes together. "I'm that pathetic, aren't I."

"Oh, no you're not."

"My only friends are my aunt's crocheting club and my cousin who eats all the pastry dough if we don't hide it from him. So maybe I overreacted a bit, but it was nice to have someone interesting over."

Her eyes widened, then. She filled up another canteen for Roderich, then helped him up and led him to the door. "How big is this estate? I didn't even see a salt ring when I came in. You're not using a salt ring?"

"I don't think a salt ring would work. He's too powerful."

"What about the other hundreds who think your wealth and position make you a hot commodity?"

"Please never say that again."

"You can't play blind to what everyone knows," she said dryly. "If you want to keep the darkness out, all you have to do is surround your home with a thick ring of the stuff. It forms a barrier. Keeps out changelings, boggarts, wervees, toadmuffins, and most other evil things. If you put flower petals in the ring, it's stronger against wisps. They're invisible spirits from my country that sit on your shoulders and prey on happy thoughts until you're nothing but a shell."

"I doubt they'd find any happy thoughts here."

"Everyone is happy about something. You certainly like to eat too many desserts. Get some salt."

"If salt is even available, then perhaps."

"If salt is available and you promise not to stare at my chest, then I'll help you."

The sound of the door opening downstairs startled the two. Auntie Ilse's voice rose up through the floorboards, and all of Roderich's sudden fantasies were deflated in an instant.

"Roderich! There are _three _gentlemen waiting for your signature!"

"They're just embarrassed at this point," Roderich groaned. "I'm sorry. This will be happening all afternoon. What do I owe you for the consultation?"

"It's fine. And you need more than a consultation, so take it no-charge. We're putting a salt ring around this place next time I visit."

"Perfect!" He blurted. "Right, right, then put on your disguise again, and don't take anything Ilse says to you personally."

Eliza patted his head and slipped out the black door. The sunlight streaming through the windows on the opposite wall framed her hair in fiery grace. She was the sun, with the sparkling gold corona, shining her radiance like everything good was warmed and reborn. Roderich could forgive the trousers and the snipped skirt. In this moment, it seemed an answer was provided to his every question. Did the same Fate which guided Gilbert to his window also bless him with visions of imperfect perfection? Of such human divinity? Or was this the spirit of poets and fools, teasing him with a peace he'd never known, in the form of a girl who glowed and floated so frustratingly light? Did she make him feel this way? Was it dignified? Correct? This was completely new, and he wasn't sure what to think of it.

But for the first time in his life, Roderich heard the sound of a pavane in his heart, and in the evening, he played it until he was smiling.

* * *

Eliza sat in the crook of a twin-trunked tree, bare feet submerged in the spring mud and pencil in her hand. Her forested friend was having another existential crisis of some degree, and in too many paragraphs, she'd taken the time to assuage his fears and assure him he was not going to die alone. And that he was not a freak of nature. And that the universe did not play games of spite with him. And that it was not bad to be attracted to odd things. And that his definition of what was odd could be different from someone else's.

A sigh of pure annoyance escaped her lips. She curled herself backwards and hung with her toes in the mud on one side of the tree and her hair gracing the grass on the other. The earthy scents brought her back to some lost, magical time, when the mists whispered promises and the sun spoke of countless treasures. With the letter resting on her chest, she considered the meeting with that poor eccentric boy, whose name alone sounded like he was gargling gravel, and wondered how his circumstances could possibly have led him to this.

"Oh, why do I always attract the weird ones?" She whined to a crow rocking its head over the boughs above her. "And why do I always agree to help them?"

It was a question for no one but the stars.

* * *

**~N~**

**My first time writing something like this. Review so I can improve! ^^ I never had a teen romance. But I know it feels great when someone nice gives you a shoulder-squeeze. Here's to all the Frying Pangle writers, whether they see her choosing Master or Knight. Here's to me entering the first three paragraphs of this episode into a flash fic contest. Wish me luck 'cause I don't think the guest judge will like it. XD **

**Please vote on my profile for who gets an independent story next! I am also open to suggestions for new SCC episodes. Give me cute stuff to write or you'll know how it'll turn out! **

**Next episode: Gilbert just wants to buy Ludwig a pastry. Roderich just wants to buy salt. **

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net March 20th, 2020. Reposters don't eat oranges like cool people.**


	13. 2:5 March the Nine and Ten of Crows

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**13\. March! The Nine and Ten of Crows**

**With the "imp-festation" throwing the world into a panic, complications arise for humans and changelings alike. **

* * *

**I. When the World Grew Noisy**

Roderich was not going to cower in the corner. He was not going to let this pass and endure the pain afterward. He was not going to sit idly as he normally did, waiting for the world to cater to him with creamy cakes and shiny shoes. This was an emergency. This was a matter of survival. This was the time for his dark passion to rise from the shifting sands and strike down the dastardly foe encroaching _his_ territory.

He kicked the burly farmer in the back of the shin, then with a running start, threw himself on his back and brought the two of them crashing to the ground. Straddling the man between his scraped knees and snagged stockings, he arched his back and wriggled his right hand over the man's chest. He was hiding the prize in his breast pocket! There were _bulges!_

The man cursed and gripped one of Roderich's wrists. He pushed himself back onto his knees, but Roderich was clamped around him like a hissing madman. He swung his long legs around and locked them tightly around the farmer's middle. Then he jerked his free hand around the man's chest again and clawed at the breast pockets. He felt the ultimate prize just within. A rectangular shape — a bit rough on the edges where it was wrapped. His fingers explored the edge of the pocket, then darted within.

They hit the paper, soft and grainy, and _another _kind of paper. There were at least two of them. Stressing his elbow and fighting the man's grip on both of his arms, he shoved the hand fully inside the pocket and grasped them. Both emerged just as his opponent fully shook him free. Roderich fell backwards and crashed into the empty table, prizes flying from his fingers and landing with a beautiful _slap-slap _on the ground in front of him.

Two bars of soap. Honey-scented.

He flipped around and scuttled forward to scoop them back up, but the farmer stooped down and smacked his hands away with a discarded leather glove before taking both of them and walking off. The young master's wrists and cheeks were equally red. His fingers were grimy and slippery from reveling in so much soap over the past fifteen minutes. This had been the last table in the marketplace, and he'd barely made it in time.

He stood up, pulling his stockings up to his knees and raking his fingers through his hair. His coat weighed heavy on his shoulders, perhaps because every pocket was loaded with bars of soap, not including the bars concealed in his trouser pockets and the one he'd stuffed into his cravat. His toes were pinched from the bar he'd broken in half to stuff into his shoes. Huffing, he wiped his spectacles with a greasy cloth and placed them back on his nose.

"Have enough soap?" Eliza asked from six feet away. "You know we came here for _salt." _

"I need soap."

"You have soap at home."

"Not nice soap."

"You are the pettiest boy I've ever met. It's going to take you years to use that much soap. You know other people need it too."

"It's not like the supply will run out."

"Then why hoard it!?"

"Because times are uncertain, and if that means I'll be shut up at home for a while, I may as well be overprepared."

"Times are uncertain. Right. And how is soap going to save you from something that wouldn't care less if you'd scrubbed yourself raw?"

"A clean image brings clear confidence."

He repositioned the bars melting around his toes and set off again through the crowd of angry hoarders punching and tackling each other with even more raw fury than the graceful little ostrich boy strutting with his beak in the air. Eliza followed with Otto looking over her shoulder. She'd dressed him up all cute in his gown and socks for the afternoon out — even if it was just for this array of tents and tables offering emergency supplies — which even Roderich was abusing.

The main pavilion had been set up in Birngarten's park that morning, after it was announced the whole region would be going into quarantine within the next week or so. It was permissible for the head of the household to go out for whatever supplies were needed, but most businesses would be shut down until further notice, and no children were to be out and idle in the streets. The people were advised to be particularly cautious in rural areas, and especially around forests, where the imps could disguise themselves as animals and attack without warning.

Soap was not as rare a commodity as salt, but it was scarce here. The women had taken the pies and the pastries and cakes. New clothes and toys for children were readily dispatched to entertain the homebound little ones. And of course, there were the wards, effective or not. Eliza was sure half of those scissors were _silver-hewn, _which would shock the imps, but never scare them away. And the iron charms she did see were misshapen and coated with rust.

"Well, you're fussy today," she said, pinching Otto's nose. The little one scrunched up his face and struggled in the confines of her arms. His cheeks were all red and wrinkled from crying. He sneezed, and again, Eliza took out her handkerchief and dabbed his lips clean. "I'm so sorry you have to miss your nap. Your cousin is a stinker who thinks only of himself."

"Eliza!" Roderich called from several rows away. "Come tell me if these are real!"

"Hey, kid, have you been stealing other people's soap?"

Eliza pinched her brows together. She could easily silence this place with a flick of her wand, but that would cause even more hysteria to burgeon among the gathered. A little salt, a little offering of custard and cake — that's what her own witchy mother had taught her before she died. It was about respecting the creatures rather than aggravating them. No, changelings were not friends. But they weren't complete monsters, either. They had their own intelligence, even if it was a twisted one.

But she supposed one would sooner take a raucous, misbehaving child slathered with mud than an uptight little master who had inhaled a bar of soap.

Or was it the other way around?

Nonetheless, defense against the dark fae was usually limited to a taking a few important precautions, none of which included stuffing one's pockets full of cleaning supplies.

Roderich had just finished being so annoyingly prickish to the event's moderator that he backed off to break up another fight over milk. Eliza joined the petty boy at last, with Otto a bit more complacent now that she'd given him a small chocolate treat.

"Are these real?" Roderich asked, pointing to the array of charms and bracelets out on the table before them. "This man tells me they're iron."

"Did you try them with your ring?"

"What about my ring?"

"That ring is iron, isn't it? If these charms are iron, they should be attracted to it."

Roderich shrugged and waved his right hand over the charms. Not one of them moved.

"There you have it. They're not iron, and you don't need a charm when you already have that ring. As for _you, _sir," she said, addressing the vendor, "don't be peddling things like these. They give false assurance. And please be informed. Basil smells _good _to them. You want daisy leaves and St. John's wort. If you boil those and leave the mixture on your doorstep overnight—"

"What are you trying to tell me, _lady? _That you know more about imps than I do? I've axed three of them. Edelstein knows that. Don't you?"

"I've signed so many forms in the past few months I can't remember who is who in the kill count," Roderich slurred, fidgeting with his ring. "Come, Eliza, this place makes me uncomfortable. I'll make us some cake back at Edelweiss."

She stamped her foot, and Otto dropped his chocolate. "No! We came here for _salt, _and we're getting _salt! _Even just one can of it to sprinkle on that windowsill you keep moaning about! Do you want me to help protect you or not?"

The thick, dark eyebrows scrunched in their signature angle of disgust, but Roderich quit his fidgeting and squared his shoulders like a rooster puffing out his chest.

"Where are we going to find salt in this absolute _travesty? _It had to be the _first _thing everyone took this morning! Thanks to my aunt's absence and Otto's tantrums, we only just arrived!"

"I want to go home! Want go home! _Hungry!" _

Otto was bawling again. He squeezed around Eliza's neck and gripped with tiny fingers until it hurt. His little chest heaved on her shoulder with each grating cry. Between a cranky toddler and a cranky man-boy-child, even her steely nerves were unraveling. She petted Otto's hair and bounced him up and down, but it only made him spit up on the back of her dress. Roderich was glaring at his cousin's unruliness with the purple gleam of death. An invisible and intangible scythe of a tail was twitching and rising from the back of his soap-filled coat.

"Okay. I have an idea. Roddy, follow me."

She ignored the customary "_It's Roderich" _and bit her tongue so she wouldn't reveal how much that name sounded like he was gargling gravel. Loosening her grip on the shaking, coughing child, she turned on her heel and marched right toward the edge of the pavilion, dodging a few miscellaneous flying Hermanns and Karas in the process. Roderich's shoes made a squishing sound as he tromped beside her. His neck was half-coated in soap scum, and he was sneezing from the sheer amount of basil and mint and other useless aromatics floating through the air like confetti.

"Where are we going?" He asked when they had left the site entirely.

"We're going home like you two want."

"No salt?"

"Do you want salt?"

"Yes," he grunted.

"Then dump all that soap out and fill your pockets. Hurry. I think the patrol circles the place. They already filled the empty space from this morning."

They had reached the edge of the eerily quiet city of Birngarten, having passed by all six memorials left to the lost children. Each looked relatively the same — a rain-stained daguerreotype surrounded by fresh spring flowers and a washed-out epitaph drawn in chalk upon the concrete. They were accompanied by a memorial to an adult — Frau Seidel, who had been an ancient mother of seven and the city's kindest reading tutor. Her stunned body was found crammed in a closet after she appeared to have devoured an entire barrel of fish and preached with putrid breath to her students. She deemed the entire memorial unnecessary, as she had recovered and felt fine, but it was "symbolic," the city told her, and she grew to accept it.

She set Otto down and got on her knees. The little one instantly started flapping his hands and crooning in his fiendish toddler way. Eliza cupped handfuls of salt from the two-foot-thick line and stuffed it in her dress pockets, then folded her apron and began to fill it until it bulged.

"Help me," she barked at Roderich. "I knew we were going to end up doing this. That's why I wore an apron. We're not the only ones stealing it."

She watched Roderich stand there hesitant. He had deflated and now rocked on his heels with his hands splayed out like he had absolutely no idea what to do. Then, with a little grin, he consolidated his soap into fewer pockets and his armpits, then bent down and filled the remaining pockets with salt.

Something rough spiked him in the left cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eliza's pink smirk growing on her face. Furtively, he took a pinch of salt and flicked it back at her. She squealed when it got up her nose, then laughed at Roderich's hands, which were all sticky with soap and salt. His slippery feet had slid completely out of his shoes, which oozed yellow chunks of grimy goop. His cheeks turned rosy, but he wiggled his toes and found the strength to smile at his own silliness.

"Maybe too much soap," he admitted.

"So the mighty Rod-er-_icccchhh_ finally understands!"

"Are you mocking me?"

"No, it's just that hard to say."

"When my accent is so much prettier than yours?"

"It may be the only pretty thing about you."

He raised his brows at this, but was distracted when a bar of soap slid out of his armpit and got its soggy paper soaked with salt. If only it were sunny today. Then maybe he'd see his new friend smiling in the heavenly golden beams again. He'd almost finished writing out the piece she'd inspired, only to stow it away in the piano bench when he was required to sign more paperwork.

_Für Eliza_

"Where's Otto?"

The two looked around wildly and nearly panicked before they saw the toddler at least a hundred yards in front of them on the road toward home. His little footprints were set cleanly in the space between the salt they'd carved out.

"You know, Roddy, I think tight rear ends run in your family."

"What? Why would you say something like that!?"

But she had already hoisted up her skirt and bounded after Otto with her apron full of salt, laughing and beckoning him along. Roderich was about to follow when he froze in place. A patrolman was standing right behind him. The shadow fell on his dreamy smile and crushed his stinging tail.

"Did you and your girlfriend just steal all that salt?"

"We're not the only ones doing it—"

"I should hope a _notary _would know better. Come with me."

"I'll balk for no one but the imp who torments me, thank you very much," he clucked snidely. Then he bolted off toward Eliza without shoes, the rest of the armpit soap coming free. His stockinged feet squelched in the mud, and with his weak heart, he was breathless within forty feet. The patrolman leapt after him. Roderich reached toward the others, but could no longer see them in the distance. That was funny… shouldn't they have been close? Otto on his short legs especially.

"Time for me to sweep you off your feet!" Came Eliza's voice from above him.

Roderich's stomach lurched. The feeling of a hundred tiny bubbles popping against his skin and pushing him off the ground manifested instantly. He squealed as he floated away from the mud and the grass only to plop down on Eliza's broomstick hovering thirty feet up. Otto was folded into her stomach with his tiny hands gripping the handle, and Roderich ended up gripping for dear life around the witch's chest.

She sighed before giving the straws a little heel kick and speeding off back toward Edelweiss.

"I suppose I told you not to _look _there."

* * *

**II. When the World Grew Quiet**

If Gilbert had feathers, he'd be puffier than a pigeon in the rain.

His mind was in a fog so thick that everything looked the same — gray, soupy, and constantly radiating. The very air seemed to vibrate, as if only a cool, hazy mirage of the reality were at hand. The world was one of airy lightness. If plucked, the fibers of existence themselves would float away and dissipate like clouds, leaving behind an uncertain void. Truth was laughable when the grand scheme of things could not be seen. And even moreso when it _could _be seen, and the anxious buzzing of mankind rendered it a beautiful disaster.

Every movement was automatic. Boots tromped through the puddles without weight, and fists swung through the prickly mist with invisible strength. Phantom ears twitched at the slightest noise, and phantom fingers grasped and clawed at the air. The world had gone quiet, but nothing could be louder than Gilbert's heart pounding in the center of his chest.

It pounded even louder when he saw Ludwig scraping salt off the sidewalk.

"No!"

Ludwig turned to give his brother a look. The grains of salt shifted through his fingers and spilled back to the concrete. The few who dared to be outside gave Gilbert, within Wilhelm, the same questioning look. He rushed over and scooped up the little boy in his arms, clutching him close and fighting to catch his breath after that little scare.

"Luddy, you can't do that here," he whispered into the boy's ear with the fakest of smiles suturing itself to his cheeks. "You can't part the salt for me when there are people around."

"Bwada, hungwy,"

"I know. I'm going to get you that sweet roll you wanted, okay?"

"Yay."

He held the child close against him for support while he navigated the ghostly streets. Hanging from every doorframe was a pair of scissors that shocked his nerves even from a great distance. On every idle wrist was a bracelet woven from dried herbs that to a changeling's senses stank up the whole street. Wind chimes clanged in the morning breeze with a frequency painful to the trained magical ear.

Shuddering and achy, he tried his best to hold his head up high and play pretend. This village was the smallest and remotest and closest to home, and still the mantra of "home safety" had infected every sentence uttered by its inhabitants. Good old slogan marketing — for the sake of human rights, which everyone everywhere supported wholeheartedly and unquestionably. Not one of them realized even a _fraction _of these wards would frustrate a changeling enough to keep it away.

Well, no, that was a moot point. _One _still held together like a drop of blood in the ocean.

"You sick?" Ludwig asked, his little eyebrows scrunched in worry.

"Allergies," Wilhelm smirked back.

"What dat?"

"It's when your body doesn't like something. Mine doesn't like… the mold in the grass."

A flicker of sunlight broke through the clouds and bounced off the blades of scissors being compared by a few men in front of the pub. Gilbert caught the glimmer and melted, his muscles losing all rigidity and his vision flashing for a second. Ludwig squealed when his brother squeezed him even tighter and fought to stand back up on quivering legs.

"This sidewalk is so slippery! Isn't it, Luddy!?"

"Want down. Want down."

"I'll let you down if you promise not to steal the salt."

"Why?"

He pushed his hand over Ludwig's mouth and grinned so wide his lips hurt. "Answers later, my chirpy chick." He then set him down to bound about through the fog.

Food and supplies. He needed food and supplies. Enough to last until this whole crisis was forgotten. It had been over a year already in the thick of it. Perhaps more and more changeling children were being born from the cursed shadows, and maybe they all needed homes where they could fill themselves with food and love. With society more aware of them than ever, maybe they were resorting to more than their mischievous nature allowed when it came to swapping into households.

_But we don't hurt kids, _Gilbert told himself right after he smelled a whole garden full of herbs and sneezed all over his jacket. _Fritz totally murdered people at some point, but not kids. I could still be called a kid, and I owe my life twice to him. He saved me from humans, and he saved me from myself. He was the reason I'm only knee-deep in all this shit and not neck-deep like all the changeling kids without homes or families right now. _

"Wilhelm, you shouldn't have that kid running around outside. We've been in quarantine for ten days."

_Ten days!? Has it been that long since I came to get supplies!? _

It was Thomas Senior, the printer. He patted Wilhelm's shoulder and scrunched his nose at Ludwig now racing freely around the empty town square. The boy's clothes were dirty, Gilbert thought. Yesterday he'd taken eagle form to hunt outside the salt rings surrounding all major settlements, and the reversion to fairy form had taken so much energy he had only the strength to make a meal and skip the chores.

"Is this a real quarantine, or are the young people just using that as a slang term?"

"We're in the middle of an international crisis, so yes, it is a real quarantine. We're supposed to keep children inside and refrain from traveling out of town. You're welcome to stay with us. My son Thomas is Ludwig's age, and Reina can make any old stockpiled potato delicious."

Wilhelm felt his stomach growl. Even this body was losing weight. He shivered and looked to Ludwig, who was now tugging on his pant legs and peering up with his blue eyes hot in annoyance.

"I'll think about it. Lud and I are hungry right now, so that's our priority. Is Adela's bakeshop open?" He had begun to walk even further into the town square. An enormous pot of herbs was positioned at the center — filled with creeping vines and delicate, moist spring flowers of purple, red, and pink. The noxious odor entered his lungs and burned until he was fighting not to claw at his chest. His fingertips flickered crimson, and he shoved both hands in his jacket pockets. All at once, his body felt warmer. The blood rushed into his head. A distinct prickling grew just behind his ears and in the gums of his teeth. Sweat pooled on his brow despite the cool mists of morning.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here. You can't take your little brother to the bakery for a treat. Adela's not even making treats. She's making essentials — loaves and rolls and not much else." Thomas said, catching up to him.

Wilhelm caught the sight of the iron charm dangling around his neck and jumped to his left, stumbling before catching himself. He sucked in a breath and broke into a coughing fit. The muscles in his chest seized up in pain. He pulled his left hand out and scrutinized it. The flesh looked pale and pinched. Everything was growing hot and tingly just beneath the skin. His vision swam a bit as he scrambled to find his footing. The air was poison, and the buildings were iron. One breath too deep, one touch too strong…

"She'll have a sweet roll for Ludwig. I promised him one."

"Are you okay?"

More had begun to eye the scene now. Mostly men — out to satisfy their restlessness or on a quest for supplies themselves. Wilhelm stared at the ground, then searched the area for Ludwig. Where was he? Where could he be? Oh, right, just below him. Holding his shaking hand and looking frightened.

"Don't be scared, Lud. I'm fine. Big brother is fine. It's just allergies."

"You need to lie down?" Asked Peter, the chicken farmer. He held a hand out, and Wilhelm got a whiff of his bracelet. He clamped his free hand over his mouth when he felt his empty stomach start churning.

He ignored the offers and jerked out of the arms of the men. Then he grabbed Ludwig and flew off down the intersecting avenue. Adela's bakery was at the very end of it. If he could just make it there before the burning in his chest grew too intense… Just ignore the fact that he was _definitely _being followed by some paranoid patrons of the village…

He lost his balance and slammed headfirst into an invisible barrier created by the line of salt on the ground. There was barely enough time to flip himself over and roll on the concrete with Ludwig still clamped tightly against his chest. The boy screamed. When Wilhelm came to a stop on his side, he wrestled his way out of his brother's arms and ran toward the door of the bakery, stooping only briefly to start scraping the salt out of its uniform streak.

Wilhelm coughed. "Lud, no, don't do that. You can't. _Ludwig!" _

The power of his anguished voice conjured a wind that whisked all the salt out across the empty street.

"Bwada! Up! Get up!"

Wilhelm cursed, then wrenched himself up and shuffled in an awkward dance to avoid all the mini-barriers up to the front step of the place. He knocked three times before pushing on the door and stumbling when Adela pulled it open from the inside.

"Wilhelm? What are you doing here? Why is Luddy upset?"

Wilhelm bristled in pure frustration. "Just, just, ach! I'm _starving! _And Ludwig wants a sweet roll!"

She stood idly a moment before her face lit up in horror. "Do you feel sick?"

"No, I'm not sick! I just have allergies — Are those muffins!?"

He snatched one right up from its pan and stuffed it into his mouth, shuddering in sudden pleasure. The warm, buttery, spongy texture was absolutely divine on his dry tongue. Oh, and there was another flavor, too! Very tart, but sweet enough for comfort. It exploded in his mouth, making his cheeks and palate tingle with delight.

And then tingle a little more… painfully… until his throat was burning…

_Shit! The _red _currants! _

Wilhelm seized his neck and coughed, spewing muffin everywhere. He gasped, but his throat was burning and swelling like it was on fire. Already a patchy, itchy rash was blooming on his paling skin. His legs felt weak. His head weighed a ton. His stomach flip-flopped, and his whole body was boiling.

Adela sprang into action, grabbing Wilhelm's shoulders and shoving him toward an open trap door behind the counter. "Get in the cellar, right down through that door," Adela growled. "Yes, you, Wilhelm, get down there. Do what you need to do. Ludwig, here, have a muffin. You look sick yourself, sweetheart."

He heard Ludwig crying out for him, but he could do nothing to assure his little one. In the cellar were sacks of flour and spices and the very devils that bewitched him — the _red _currants, which were poisonous to creatures of darkness. Gilbert flopped down on a flour sack and wrapped his arms around his middle. The fever was making his muscles twitch. The skin of his hands started bubbling and warping on its own. Pressures erupted in his bones.

_No, I can't. I can't lose this shape. It's strong. It protects me. No changing! I can handle this! _

But his body didn't respond to mere thoughts. It responded to his swollen throat and irritated sinuses. Bad air wasn't good for the body. No air was worse. The back of Gilbert's mind approved. He forfeited everything and willfully withered back to his original shape. With limited energy, each snapping bone and twisting joint was agony.

The swelling relented with his change in size. He sucked in a breath, though it was a shallow one. The rash burned all over his arms and stomach and legs, and his claws became sticky and purple when he scratched. Sniffling and aching, he lay in silence and struggled to stay awake.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there when Adela cautiously opened the door and climbed down into the darkness with a candle in hand. All he knew was that a few bags of sugar had been emptied and something grainy was sticking to his lips.

"Don't look at me," he snarled.

"I'm not looking at you, and I don't want to know. All I want to know is why you're here."

"Because you made me—"

"No, _why _are you _here?" _

He lay in silence for a few moments, and finally it dawned on him that humans were not as stupid and ignorant as they looked. His voice was weak when he spoke, and twice as raspy as Wilhelm's strong baritone. "Because Lud doesn't like turnips, so I promised him I would get him a sweet roll."

"Do you have nothing to eat where you live?"

"I learned to cook venison. We have some berries and things stored up. But Lud doesn't like turnips. I wanted to get him something better than turnips. He would eat the bigger portions of meat I gave him, but he got full, and the rest of the meat went bad because I didn't like it. It wasn't worth trying to salt any of it. I can't digest that much salt."

"How long has it been like this?"

"Ever since they put the big salt rings everywhere. I taught Lud how to part them and fix them up for me, but he doesn't understand he can't do it in town. Where is he? Is he okay?"

He saw her eyeing the shadow of his skeletal body and enormous ears on the opposite wall.

"He's upset, but the girls are trying to play with him upstairs. My husband is making them lunch."

"What about all those men outside? I heard arguing. They saw me hit the barrier, didn't they."

"Yes."

"Are you going to take Ludwig away from me?"

The question was so small. So quiet. So hopeless and yet so full of hope. Tenderly and earnestly, Gilbert hid his face and fought back his unawesome tears.

"_I _will not take him away from you. _I _know that you have a good heart, and you want what's best for him—"

"But I want him to live with _me!_"

"I didn't say not living with you is what's best for him. I trust that your home is a very safe and loving place. But I'm concerned about his well-being, especially if he's not eating enough and he's seeing you sick every day. He's frightened of things he's too young to understand."

"I know. I don't want him to be frightened. That's why I came here today. I'm sick of things not being normal."

"Nothing is normal anymore."

Straining, Gilbert pushed himself up off the flour sack and bolstered himself upright with his feet on the floor. He placed his fingertips on his forehead and closed his eyes.

"You've probably figured this out already," he said, "but I have to fake my death."

* * *

**~N~**

**I did it for posterity.**

**Roderich is my new favorite character to describe. He's just this schnozzy ball of pure "Os-treachery" who can be hilariously both petty and manly at the same time. Thanks historical AUs for giving me his angry side. Plus "Roderich" sounds absolutely disgusting in a real German accent, though I have yet to hear it in an Austrian one. Probably worse. **

**Next episode: A potion emergency! **

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net spring break day 21. Don't rEpOST and **_**do **_**get some fresh air! **


	14. 2:6 A Toadmuffin Tantrum!

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**14\. A Toadmuffin Tantrum!**

**Gilbert is overjoyed to see Ludwig safe and happy at home after the salt ring fiasco. But with the boy's return to a magical environment, new stresses are just around the corner… **

* * *

_**Ah, the valley of the Rhein! An ancient place of wonder and mystery! Some say the great cliffs of the promontory were once the homes of dragons and giants! Others say that every drop of river-water and leaf upon the bank is simply filled up with magic! **_

_**Now, who's this? Tromping through a secret path to that hollow where the trees bend toward an old stone tower and the birds sing strange and haunting melodies? It's our villain Gilbert, disguised as Wilhelm! And it looks like he's singing to the boy he's carrying — Little Ludwig! What exciting adventures could be in store for these two?**_

It was a cold, cold spring day. The bare trees twitched stark and silent without their voice of leafy whispering, and the ground was brown and sopping with snowmelt that refused to sink into the clay. The circle of greenery always encroaching Piyo Tower's earthen lawn was lax, with each pointed bough and spindly stick drooping in the somberest mood. The same pestering wind whistled through each stone, relaying the same pointless platitude as last week, and the week before, and many weeks before that, when the world was stable and platitudes changed from week to week. Everywhere lurked the same hazy confusion, fraught with stale motivations and the nervous tension of a thing kept in waiting. It was as if the Earth herself had split in two over the affairs of Man — and most absurdly, at that.

Wilhelm, tromping through the creepers that magically parted for him with a misty-greenish gleam, was so excited he couldn't help but sing. And sing he did, with a voice so atrocious, it charmed the crows into dancing.

"_There is a star way up in the sky!  
__For every good girl and every good boy!  
__So most will grow wings, and up there they'll fly!  
__But my love, you know I am different! _

_For some want to eat!  
__Some want to be eaten!  
__Some want to watch others  
__Get turned into chickens!  
__Whatever you wish on a star you shall have!  
__And pleasure for all your days after!" _

Ludwig was loving it. He squished his nose into his brother's chest and raised his voice to join in on the tune. Within Wilhelm, Gilbert's heart felt free as a plumpish sparrow, and his whole body grew warm with that rush of happiness which came only once in a season. It had been a long, long time since he'd even held the child, and Gilbert had never known such joy. Again he could hold Ludwig close and hear him speak and know he could _love _a creature so hideous and vile!

Fritz be damned, Gilbert had found a companion in a thing who held no interest in philosophy, and that was all right with him.

He tromped right into the tower and set Lud down in the first place that wasn't filled with potions. Then he did a prompt about-face and spat the bluish-grayish chewing clay all over his doorstep. His teeth were stained with the stuff, and his whole mouth tasted like ink. It was an ordeal to keep it under his tongue during all the negotiations, and a miracle he never swallowed it. It protected him from the wards, but it demanded he bite his tongue.

Once every slimy chunk was liberated from his molars, he braced himself in the doorframe and shrank to his true form. The weight of everything literally melted from his shoulders, and though the wind was now twice as chilly, Gilbert was quite pleased with himself. He wiped his lips with a swing of his wrist and made sure he was at equilibrium. Ears? Long and sharp. Teeth? Vicious as needles. Magical energy? Flowing. Self-esteem? Eh, that was always something to work on.

"Well, Lud, that was the grossest thing I've ever had to go through, but I got through it! I fooled that whole town into thinking that changeling Wilhelm was dead, and I was the _true, human _Wilhelm! He doesn't burn! He can stick his hand through salt! It wasn't painless, mind you, but that shows you what kind of wreck I'd be if I couldn't have you around! I'm just kidding. Half-kidding. Don't you feel so happy being home? You can finally sleep in your own bed! A big boy bed! It's Fritz's old bed, so if his ghost comes around, tell him he sucks."

Gilbert turned. The circular room before him was an absolute mess. The potionery had only been confined to the cellar for so long before boiling up into the kitchen. Chemical spills of all colors splattered and stained the floorboards. Half-filled and over-filled vials and bottles were stowed from corner to corner, most labeled, but others simply casualties of an overflowing cauldron. Half the room was "Ward immunity (for me)," and the other half was "For Roderich," piled high with Fritz's Black Books and cocktails that blackened and melted the glass containing them.

Ludwig had tripped over a goose-necked bottle. His shoes crunched on broken glass, but he was luckily uninjured. Gilbert weaved through the disorder, but could clearly see the little one was fraught with tears.

"Ludwig? What's wrong? Don't be frightened. It's me. It's your big brother. Don't you remember? I'm a magical fairy."

"You're not a fairy," the boy blubbered. "Fairies are pretty."

Gilbert smirked. "Adela's been feeding you nonsense, has she? Bless the poor woman. She probably read some fairy tale to you and the girls knowing full-well that it isn't true. Not all fairies are pretty, and they don't have to be pretty to be nice people. I'm still your loving brother. _There is a star way up in the sky~!" _

The song eased the pain in the little one's face, but he was still clearly shaken. Gilbert came to crouch near him. He tucked his wayward fangs beneath his lips and placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Hey, you're home now. What's wrong? Am I scary?"

"Not scary," Ludwig whimpered. "But… hand."

"Hand? My hand?"

He looked to see that his left hand was still a bit swollen. He focused, and it shrank with an awful _crackle-crunch. _Ludwig squealed and hid his face, almost scrambling away before Gilbert grabbed him and gently helped him sit in a clear area of the floor. He should've really cleaned the place beforehand, but impulsiveness was one of those damnable changeling traits.

"_Oh…_ I get it," he said in as gentle a voice he could. "My transformations scare you. Well, er, look at my hand. It's all better, see? The bones broke so it could get smaller, but it's fine now."

"It hurts?" The boy's eyes went wide.

"Oh, not at all. It feels wonderful."

"Can I play with Ada and Bibi?"

"You played with them every day for months. Let your big brother have a break from chewing on tatzelwyrm phlegm. It'll be a while before I'm completely safe in public."

"Why?"

"Because… Ach, let's pick a day for me to explain everything to you, okay? I want to focus on lunch right now. Are you hungry?"

"Yes!"

Pleased once more, Gilbert rose and sighed at the state of the room. "Come with me outside while I rinse off, and then I'll heat up Adela's meal with a spell for us."

"It's cold outside."

"It's not that... "

Ludwig was making a pout that couldn't be argued with, and Gilbert realized the little one had suffered enough for one day.

"Fine. Stay right there, and don't touch anything. Don't even touch your shoes. They're the only things between your feet and more glass, and they're full of glass themselves."

This was the command Gilbert gave. Unfortunately, Gilbert was out of practice with talking to Ludwig, and upon discovering the boy's vocabulary had grown so impressive, he had forgotten the human child's brain is quite delicate and illogical.

And a human child should never be left on his own.

Ludwig watched Gilbert exit. Then his throat grew tight, and he wrapped his arms around his middle the way Auntie Adela taught him to do when he was scared. Tears dripped down his cheeks and splattered on the dusty floor where he sat, bubbling with the stains and sending a curious pink steam into the atmosphere.

Auntie Adela had once read him a story. It was about a dragon made of darkness that devoured the sun and the moon to leave the world in shadow. The crops withered, the ocean leapt and crashed upon the shore, and all singing ceased. At once, the great wizard Ludwig von Vegel was summoned to put an end to the blinding reign, but even he could not best the beast.

Through the dusky day and ebony night, the people and animals of the world prayed to the sun and the moon, locked under the spell of the dragon's might, and only when every hand was lifted to the sky did the great shiny spheres of heaven glisten once more, casting a rainbow over the mountains and the fields.

Ludwig told Adela he lived with a creature who devoured his brother like the dragon gobbled up the light. Whenever they left the village and came to this cursed place, Wilhelm's warm, strong arms were reduced to twigs, and his handsome face mangled itself into the beak of a shriveled scavenger. Then he called himself by another name and pretended he was Ludwig's big brother.

The creature was scary-looking, but very friendly. He liked to read Ludwig stories, too, and he knew how to make delicious apple sauce. But the creature was always with his brother. He made Wilhelm allergic to salt, and fear of him had forced his brother away for so, so long. Ludwig hadn't the understanding the adults had. Adela refrained from speaking about the creature, and the girls' tales of imps and hobgoblins frightened him even more.

"I want Wilhelm," he whispered to the glowing potions. Some bubbled in their bottles with a lively burble, and others smoked and sweated and steamed as they churned in on themselves.

A vial of yellow fluid caught his eye, and he remembered that in the story, Ludwig von Vegel was sent to fight the dragon with his team of beautiful fairy warriors. Ludwig withdrew from his hat the Golden Potion of Strength, and when he drank it, he grew as big and strong as a giant, and he could pry the dragon's claws off the clouds they clutched. Could this be… the very Potion?

Ever so carefully, he crawled through the maze and picked up the vial. It was so warm and tingly to the touch. Ludwig pried off the cork and pressed the glass rim to his lips. His breath clouded on the inside before the fluid poured into his mouth and down his throat. It tasted the way dandelions smelled, but with a sharply electric aftertaste.

Ludwig waited, but no golden light bathed his skin, and no powerful heat rushed into his muscles. Pouting, he spied another potion — this one cheerfully blub-blubbing in shades of pink and purple. He snatched its bottle and gulped down the contents. This could be Ludwig von Vegel's Potion of Fae Sight that let him speak to invisible people! He waited, then squinted his eyes and looked for the women with crowns of elderberries, but none did appear.

Well, this was frustrating! These were real magic potions, just like in the fairy tales, and drinking them was as good as a glass of water! Would any give him the powers of his hero, fit to make Gilbert leave his poor brother alone? Or was he not fit to be a hero at all?

He drank a few more of them. One green with yellow bubbles, one white and no denser than vapor, and one shimmering like the fog on the Rhein. Then he weaved to the "For Roderich" side of the room, where the thickest glass bottle sat fat upon a black-covered book. The potion within was dark and tar-like. Iridescent rings of blue and purple stained the neck of the bottle's inside. The outside was all grimy with dust and fingerprints. Ludwig strained to pick it up and uncork it. Surely this was a potion of some grandiose power! Its odor caused his nose to burn and his throat to smart! Unable to lift it to drink, he stuck his tongue into the bottleneck and tried to lap up whatever sludge would stick.

"LUDWIG!_ NO!"_

He dropped the bottle, and it cracked down the side. A hissing gray steam shot out from the fissure, clouding the corner with a wet, heavy smoke.

Gilbert clambered over potions and lotions to shoo Ludwig out of the potions labeled "For Roderich." Then, using his anger as a magical springboard, he cried out in his raspy voice and made the air carry every bottle and shard up to the ceiling, where it hovered still. He wrenched off Ludwig's shoes and tossed them outside so he couldn't harm himself in any fashion.

"Did you drink any!? You didn't drink any, right!?"

"N-no," Ludwig whimpered, thinking Gilbert only meant the black potion. A gray ring was left on his tongue from the bottle, and Gilbert made him gargle a thick mixture of saltwater until it was gone.

"Kill me with a blueberry, Ludwig. Do you know what that black potion does to a human body? It turns the intestines into _sausage._ It's not _supposed _to do that, but people like me have a thing for not getting it quite right yet."

This frightened the little one, for he wrapped his arms around Gilbert's stringy calves and squeezed as hard as he could.

"Well, serves you right! You didn't listen to me! You didn't misbehave with Adela, I hope."

"No."

"Good. Now let me fix you lunch."

With a gilded ditty on his flute, Gilbert warmed the parcel of meat, potatoes, and greens. The good woman had also sent seed packets and instructed Gilbert to build a chicken coop when he could for eggs. He sat himself in one seat of the little round table just under the window and next to the fireplace and gestured for Lud to sit in the other. The little one climbed up and grimaced at Gilbert's ravenous wolfing of his potatoes and cream cakes.

"Won't you eat?" Gilbert asked when he'd finished.

Ludwig shook his head. "Not hungry," he whined. "Tummy hurts."

"Your tu… Ludwig… you drank something, didn't you. What did you drink?"

Changeling eyes saw it all. Ludwig had gone all pale and sweaty. Nervous hands pawed at his stomach, and reddened cheeks were all tight with embarrassment. Gilbert heard the faint bubbling sound of liquid magic at work. Panicking, he threw out his chair and crouched before the boy, checking his temperature with a finger.

"You're all warm! Tell me what you drank, please? Did you drink _anything _from the far side of the room? If you did, it'll hurt really bad, but I know how to deal with it."

"I drank a yellow one, and a green one, and a white one—"

He was about to say more, but he coughed, and a jet of bubbles spewed from his mouth to smack Gilbert straight in the face, soaking him in sopping suds.

"You drank more than one? So they're all mixing inside you? Oh, crap, your body is changing! Why did you drink so many!?"

Ludwig just shook his head. He hunched in on himself, coughed again, then squealed at the brown-gold nubs of feathers sprouting from his hands and neck. A stinging feeling pulsed over his skin, and brown strands of fur began to peek out of his collar and between the buttons of his shirt.

"This isn't good. If you're being affected, we're past the point of throwing all that up."

"What we do? I feel weird!" The boy cried as his little hands _creaked _and the fingers started to lengthen. A stubby, naked tail was swelling over the seat of his trousers. Feathers and fur had spread to blanket his arms and his chest. He tugged at his ears, which were all red and irritated from some invisible force stretching them into points.

"Go lie on the couch, okay? I might have some Flemeleon oil tonic. That's supposed to slow the reaction. Just, just go lie down!"

Ludwig traipsed over to the couch, groaning as his ears stretched even longer. His pinking skin looked thin and stretched over rapidly-growing bones. His nose and lips were all puffy and thick, and feathers were creeping up over his cheeks. Could he be turning into some kind of bird? No, that wasn't right. Gilbert knew how difficult it was to create a true Avian Elixir. He'd been at it for years. Pure luck wouldn't cut it. And Ludwig was looking more and more like an oversized feathery rat. His fingers and toes were all pink and skinny, and his tail was stretching out behind him.

"Does anything else hurt?"

"My tummy really really hurts."

"Well, that's a given," Gilbert whispered to himself. "He's not screaming like Rod does, so one of those potions must have had a numbing agent. Schlopium or Anilax or something. Wait, Anilax… if it's Anilax, the Flemeleon oil won't work. I have to use chuncha oil. Right? Is that the stuff that has to be imported? Oh no, it is, and Fritz used it all for his skin care routine. Crap on a cracker!"

"Brother!"

"Just a minute, Ludling!"

Ruby eyes darted back and forth at all the potions floating above. Adding more might make it worse, without knowing the ingredients of the first potions, how could he know the cure? An empty vial among the rest would look just like one that had spilled! Perhaps a tonic of fel-fel powder? Or some Queen's Honey? He called the substances, and they flew down to the floor before him, where he skimmed labels with all the swiftness of a desperate creature. The fel-fel powder seemed the best bet as a harmless magick-diluter. But Queen's Honey was an all-natural rejuvenator that could easily restore an ailing body.

"_Brother!"_

Gilbert looked upon the sniveling mess of a child, and his heart fell apart in his chest. His little hands now formed the pink digits of a monkey with the claws of a rat, and his relatively fleshy body had been reduced to a hunched, slender mass beneath his clothes. Golden feathers and brownish fur were popping out of every pore. A soft, perfect nose was slowly stretching and molding and swelling into a flabby muzzle. The feathers grew longest on the arms, where they'd ripped through the sleeves in places to form a pair of misshapen flightless wings. The feet were creaking out into matching talons, and the thick, naked tail was wiggling uncontrollably as it finished sprouting long, glittery green plumes at its tip.

It was as if a rat, a bat, a monkey, and an eagle had somehow amalgamated into one horrifying creation. He was a… a…

"Lud! You're a _Toadmuffin!" _

The Toadmuffin lifted his scrawny pink hands and felt around his muzzle with something of a crude fascination before melting into tears. He sneezed, and another jet of bubbles shot out of his mouth with enough force to blow a candle holder off the far wall. Gilbert scooped up the Queen's Honey and went to assess the damages. A tuft of blond fur still hung above Ludwig's eyes, resembling his bangs. His eyes were still the same shallow blue, though with a shade of mischief owing to the dark magic of potionery. He was taller and lankier than before, and he constantly wriggled to sit with his tail out of the way.

"Does your tummy still feel weird?"

"I feel weird all over," the Toadmuffin said in a lower, gruffer voice. "What _am_ I?"

"A Toadmuffin! It's a type of hobgoblin — a creature lower in the pecking order than the Fae. Whatever you drank somehow, by chance, morphed you into one! Although Toadmuffins aren't known for bubble beams."

Ludwig gulped, gasped, then jetted bubbles again. The floorboards were soaked through, and Gilbert had to open the door for all the sudsy water to wash outside. The tears kept coming, heavier and louder. The creature jumped off the couch, jumping and flapping his flightless wings and stomping around and making a total hobgoblin ruckus. His thin, springy legs propelled him several feet in the air when he leaped, and his talons scratched the floorboards when he came back down.

"What have I done? What have I let you do? Er, Lud? Do you feel like you're still changing, or are you just weirded out by the changes? If your body is stable, we might not need an instant fix."

"What _happened _to me!? I don't _want _to be a Toadmuffin! I want to be a _boy!" _

"Well, you're still a boy. You want to be a _human." _

"I want to be a human! I want _you _to be a human! Let go of my brother!"

"Eh? I am your brother. Now come eat some of this honey. It'll soothe your stomach."

Gilbert was answered with another jet of bubbles to the face and a furious baby Toadmuffin springing upon him. The plumed tail twitched downward in anger, and the shoulders arched and poofed into a crown of plumage. Pink ears wiggled, and thick fangs gnashed. Gilbert winced as the claws dug past his shirt into his skin. Ludwig's face was inches from his own, and he watched in horror as the cheeks began to swell with bubbles again.

He rolled out from under his attacker and scrambled to pick up all the potions, but the Toadmuffin was upon him again, pulling at his ears and kicking at his back. A jet smacked him in the back of the neck, and he crumpled on the floor.

"Damn. I'm usually on the other side of this. Luddy, stop it. You're giving in to your mischievous instincts. I know that feeling all too well. Just try to calm down."

"I want my brother! I want my brother!"

"I am your brother!"

"No! You ate him! You ate him like the dragon! I want him _back!"_

Ludwig whined with a mournful voice that crushed Gilbert's spirit. With shaking arms, he pushed himself up and scooted over to hug the little hobgoblin. A flurry of claw-swipes tore the front of his shirt and put a few purple streaks on his arms and chest. A pained smile stretched across his face.

"What has gotten into you? Did you drink a mood-changing potion? Or is this all hobgoblin? Come on, tell me what's wrong."

"You're not him. I miss him."

The Toadmuffin hung his head, and his tail wiggled miserably on the floor behind him. He looked at his transformed hands and sneezed, the jet sending him up and into the far wall of the room. He bounced off the wall with his springy legs and landed in a heap on the couch, where he immediately began to whip his tail about in a sour mood.

"Dang, I gotta start feeding Rod cocktails of the lighter stuff. This is almost funny! Lud, I'm sorry you're a Toadmuffin, but will you talk for a minute? What did you say about a dragon? Ach, you really got me here. Ouch." He dabbed a fresh cloth over the scratches before cautiously taking a seat next to the Toadmuffin.

"The story about the dragon eating the sun and the moon. You know it?"

"I don't know it. Why don't you tell me?"

So the Toadmuffin told the story the best he could remember, and when he was finished, Gilbert was about to burst into tears himself.

"Oh, Luddy. You drank those potions because you thought it would make you strong enough to get rid of me? And I suppose when you transformed, you thought it was just as good."

The other nodded, his tail curling up and his ears flattening. A small stream of bubbles leaked out of his lips.

Gilbert petted the fur and feathers, marveling at their softness. "I was afraid of this," he whispered. "You're all confused. You know yourself as a human being, and you know Adela and Ernst and Ada and Bibi as human beings, too. Then there's Wilhelm. He's a human being, but not a real one."

"I want Wilhelm! Let him _go!" _

"I wish I could let him go, but the trouble is, I'm not the one who devours Wilhelm. Wilhelm is the one who devours _me._ It's the other way around. I transform into Wilhelm to go among the humans so they won't be afraid of me as I am. But I know and love myself as a fairy just like you know and love yourself as a human. This," he said, placing Ludwig's pink hand on his chest, "is my true form. It's my real body, and it houses my very fairy spirit. I feel uncomfortable in human form just as you feel uncomfortable in Toadmuffin form. _I, _Gilbert the fairy of darkness, am the one who loves you."

Ludwig sniffled. "But… I'm a human. Why aren't you a human too?"

"Because, well…"

"Why don't I have a mama and papa?"

Gilbert stroked the fur until the Toadmuffin nuzzled into his side. "You do have them, Lud. Every human has them. But… em… another name for my kind is 'changeling.' Do you know what that is?"

"Changeling? Oh, they're bad. They take kids like me!"

"They're not all bad. You see, _changelings _don't have parents because of an ancient curse. They can only be born from shadows, and they're ugly like me. So as babies, they want to feel loved and cared for just like other creatures. That's why they transform themselves into children and take their places. The changeling babies are given the love they want, and the other babies are… you're one of those babies, Ludwig. You're a swap-child, and you were entrusted to me for safekeeping."

"A changeling looks like me?"

"Yep! He's in your place, and you're here! I'm the one who will love you like a big brother should. It may be weird with my lifestyle, but as long as I'm not scaring you, I think it works. And I think you should know I named you after that wizard Ludwig von Vegel. It's something about your eyes. They looked shallow to me at first, but then I noticed how much they crave knowledge, just like a human wizard. If he's your hero, he's the right one."

"I want to be a wizard!"

"You're too cute."

"Can I meet my mama and papa?"

"Hey, em, wow, that's a conversation for another day. Let's focus on getting you un-Toadmuffined first. We'll wait to see if all those potions you drank wear off within a few days, and if they don't, we can try this fel-fel and Queen's Honey."

"I have to stay like this?"

"You drink it, you keep it, my little mischief-maker! Potions usually wear off in due time. Right now, we can be ugly together, just you and me. I'll even go steal us some pastries."

The Toadmuffin growled. His fur and feathers all bristled, and his tail wiggled like a snake behind him.

"You transform too."

_**And so, our brothers have come closer to understanding what makes them unique! As well as learning some strengths and weaknesses! Just how will their bond continue to grow and change? Find out next month, when the magic returns!**_

* * *

**~N~**

**Finally I did the Rodger Parsons parody. (I've been binging **_**Sun and Moon**_ **again. Don't mind my obvious references.) The Toadmuffin! Eliza mentioned this creature in Episode 12, but I never thought about what it looked like until I described this creature and decided it was, in fact, a Toadmuffin. I tried drawing it from my imagination, and it came out looking like a **_**Moomin**_ **character. Especially with Lud's fringe! XD **

**Special thanks to Animetronic, who wanted an episode about Lud drinking some potions.**

**Next episode: TBD**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net 4/20. Make smart choices! Don't repost. **


	15. 2:7 Blemishes

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**15\. Blemishes**

**Eliza hears a strange noise late at night. What she finds is just… **

***M**

* * *

It was a full moon when Eliza came into the world.

She was the eighth child — the one to break the luck of seven and the strength of men. Seven boys her mother had born, and now a girl who would grow up among them, learning their boyish ways through mimicry and never knowing much of her own. There was no law to keep the dust from her cropped hair, nor any beratement for the stains on her trousers and the scratches on her knees. Bruises painted her like a spotted mushroom after a challenge to wrestle. Bits of clay were smeared across her cheeks in pretend-play, naming her the swamp creature hungry for heroes.

Of course, her mother was a witch, and she conspired for Eliza to be a witch, too.

Under moonlit nights, her mother placed her scraped, scarred hands over Eliza's tiny ones, and together they wrenched the stir-stick through a viscous, goopy blue substance in the cauldron that smelled curiously of parsley and yeast. She felt the wood slide under her fingers, but gripped tighter still as the potion brightened and glittered. Flames flickered out green and purple from the logs beneath. They puffed their heat onto the witches. Eliza's mother sighed at the sweat running down her brow, but her little girl was ever-focused on continuing.

In the mornings, before she collected the eggs, Eliza's mother took her mushroom-picking. The trees, stark and brown against the creamy-yellow dawn, held little pockets of moss where Eliza would stick her fingers. Under hollowed trunks, piles of black earth held the rarest treasures. Some mushrooms were good for breakfast, others deadly poisonous. The ones that glowed were good in some healing potions, and others potent ingredients in curses. Eliza was told never to pick mushrooms that grew in rings upon the ground. Likewise the ones which sprang up in an instant and beckoned her with their sweet scent. These were the creations of hobgoblins and imps, and they would only wreak mischief if touched.

Somewhere in her memories, Eliza's mother had been taken by an imp. For a whole month, she acted strangely — shouting at the boys and refusing the kisses of her stubbly father. She devoured half the eggs before anyone else could touch them, and whenever Eliza climbed into her arms at night, she would squeeze the little girl much too tightly, petting her and cooing soft words of pure adoration. When Eliza wriggled free, her mother whined and pulled her hair. She offered to teach a potion-mixing lesson, but Eliza knew in this state, her mother forgot about which mushrooms were safe and which were not, and so the offer was not to be trusted.

When her mother had grown so wild as to snarl at her father and wear her hair in knots, he flashed a pair of iron-hewn scissors. She whimpered at the sight. Eliza watched intrigued behind her father's boots as the wild knots shriveled into ragged gray strings and the kind cheeks deflated and wrinkled into the slimy jowls of a hag. A pair of knifelike ears popped out at the sides of her head, and she clawed at her baggy clothes with fingers like spider legs.

Her father thrust the scissors toward the creature and forced it to lead them deep, deep into the woods, where it showed them Eliza's true mother, sleeping under the roots of an ancient tree. Her father was furious, but Eliza, the compassionate, had offered the hysterical creature a little custard and cake, and it cried happy tears when it finally had to leave.

A sickness came upon Eliza's mother one winter, stripping her of her witchy powers and putting her to rest forever. It was tragic, yet a benefit for her father, who had grown bitter toward magic and forbade Eliza from casting spells and mixing potions. She dropped her witchy skirt and became a boy again, plowing and planting and selling at market. But as soon as she started to grow, and her body transformed without spells or potions, she again consulted her mother's memory.

A cabin in the woods she called her own, with several magical friends coming to visit her. She caught wind of wisps and peeked at Pegasi. She avoided the Toadmuffins' trinkets and swore off the pixies' idle dreams. There was a freedom in the forest, and yet a loneliness resided there, too, deep and tangled like the tendrils of sylvan earth she trod upon. It was a darker curse than any her mother's clients consulted her for. Some days, it left her bedridden. Others, she wept upon the dust. Feeling in Paradise, yet unable to melt into joy as she should. She was an ill-fitting piece. A thing so unique as to float above all else, like a stone asurf on the sea.

Her loneliness was cured, of course, by the dryad who enchanted her with his letters. She fell in love with him so quickly, and even when his verses of love were bad and his letters were rife with angst, she loved him. Nothing and no one could tear her heart from the thought of meeting him. His greatness was almost an illusion, and the idea of holding his hand and kissing his leafy cheek seemed as distant as the moon, yet close as her pillow.

She dreamed of the dryad, even now when she lay so, so far from her home. The dark wizard's attack had shaken her entire village. Some had begged her to stay, and others, like her father, turned her out of home the first chance they got. She'd drifted for months, letting her hair grow long and wavy down her back. She'd gone without shoes and eaten nothing but dry wheat. Her toes had cracked open from rubbing them nervously together. The infection had left her shuddering huddled on the street.

No magic commission could sustain her for long. With the imp scare, anything out of the ordinary was suspicious. She'd made herself useful every chance that came her way — she was compassionate like that — but people were harsh, and to witches they were brutal.

Above Eliza's right ear was her blemish — an orangey-brown patch of mottled skin where a red hot poker was pressed tight against her skull. She always tucked a flower in her hair to hide it from potential new clients. It wasn't her fault, but she was the one holding the magic wand, and she was the one standing in a house where an imp had eaten a child right in front of her.

Despite all his faults — arrogance, moodiness, laziness, precocity and the like, (she couldn't count them all,) Roderich Edelstein let her stay in his mansion. His aunt was always deplorable, but even she'd softened eventually to the idea of another woman in the house, (as long as her nephew didn't have any ideas, and with Eliza's stubbornness, he kept his distance well enough.)

"I suppose I could feel like a princess here," she whispered to the sweet scent of wisteria floating in through her open window. "I've never been in a place so big. It has running water and servants. And that _dress." _

She peeked beyond her toes to the fluffy, frilly green gown hanging from her chiffarobe. Roderich had bought it for her, telling her she couldn't just wear a bodice with no skirt. It was nothing short of a princess gown, and yet she couldn't bear wearing it. _That_ would tempt the vile boy's fancy, and what use was pretending to be a princess? Gowns were not practical for witches, and so she would not wear one. At least, not one as fancy as that.

"He's not a prince, anyway," she sighed. "He scarfs cake like he's dependent on it, he can't ride, and his nose looks like a beak! Well, perhaps he can't do anything about his nose… He's a poor soul. I shouldn't make fun of him at all. At least not when he gives me a place to stay. Though I've yet to see this imp he complains about day and night. It _must _be madness!"

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. _

The noise froze her in place, shocking her heart and sending ice down her back. It sounded as if something was whipping itself into the floor.

She waited, then heard it again.

THUMP. THUMP. "_No, dammit! Failed again!" _

Eliza sat upright, then seized her wand from the side table and set her feet on the floor. She swept her hair back over her shoulders and listened again.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP. "Ha! Maybe I got it. That's beautiful! Oh, wow! Wow! Wait, what are you… disgusting! Ach, failed, failed, failed!" _

She was at the door. Her tan hand gripped the handle and turned, careful in every movement. The thumping and the raspy voice certainly weren't out in the hallway, and they weren't coming from the same direction as Ilse's snoring. Quietly, she pressed out into the hallway, wand sparking in the darkness to guide her. The clouds were thick tonight, and the windows across from the walkway where she trod were all black with gloom.

"_Pumpkin _ass," someone swore from down the hall. Eliza scurried to hunch herself against the wall. The skirt of her nightgown folded, and she almost tripped. Light was coming from a crack beneath the second door in from the "L" shape of the walkway. _Red _light. Deep, bloody red.

"_Shit, you owe me for that! I'm eating your cake! Your aunt can lock you up with no breakfast again." _

_Aunt? _Eliza thought. _What? Roddy… that's Roddy's room… _

The door to Roderich's room swung open, and bloody light washed over the whole walkway. Eliza thrust her wand toward the scrawny silhouette which controlled the light around it. It gave a raspy hum, and the glow dulled to a tiny speck of crimson that floated above its head. Its ears — _ears! _twitched and wiggled at either side of its head. It sniffed with a nose even more beaky than Roderich's and stepped out into the carpeted hall, then pulled the door shut behind it.

Eliza charged the thing. She brandished her wand before shoving it right up under the creature's chin. Bulging red eyes stared up at her in terrible shock. Pointed ears pulled down, and crooked fangs were revealed. Its body collapsed before her before it could even speak. Then it scooted pathetically back until it was seated in the corner, trembling and sputtering.

"Who are you?" She spat, letting a bit of energy run down her arm and into the wand, which glowed a deadly green.

"Uh, eh, _m-me?"_ The imp rambled in the voice of a cantankerous, elderly man. "_I'm… er… I don't know… something evil. I'm evil! You're… why are you, no, stupid question. Who are you?" _

She stepped forward. "You changed your voice. That's not the one you were using earlier. What were you doing in Roderich's room?"

"_Nothing that concerns you, witchy woman. In fact, it doesn't concern any human at all." _

"It concerns Roderich. He's human."

This sparked his interest. "_Oh pooh, he's not human. He's gotta have the genetic material of at least a dozen chicken breeds inside him, plus ostrich since that was already there. I have to wipe him clean and make him fully human again next week. Tight schedule to keep. The pomegranates aren't working. I need to go for some blueberry infusion thingy. Sparkling water, maybe? Do you think sparkling water would work? He's not growing plump like a chicken! I want him to be a total loaf!" _

The ingredients called up a ghastly image in her mind. "You're changing him into a _chicken?" _

"_Unless you have a better idea. Is there anything that works even better than pomegranates or blueberries?" _

"Nothing that I would know of. Now what were you doing in there? Slamming him against the wall?"

"_Nah, he does that himself. It was funny the first few times, but now he just does it to annoy me 'cause I can't see how the potions are affecting him. Can you believe it? Somehow he imbued himself with salt, and now none of my changeling magic will work on him. I had to read up on Nathanic and Svenic enchantments as a hybrid with potionery. Ach, Nathan has too many footnotes, Sven makes transformation into a boring science, and with my mischievous mind, I can't get either to work!" _

She crouched down, then placed the tip of her wand under his chin again and pressed. His scarred lips folded back over his teeth. The points of his ears turned completely blue.

"I put that ward on him to protect him from monsters like you. How is this funny? Playing with him like he's a propher and using him for twisted experiments? Don't you want to eat him or swap with him or something?"

"_Oh, I'd never swap with him. The point of swapping is to distract a changeling from the fact that he hates himself, and I have other ways of doing that. Plus Roderich's a snivel-schnozz, and I hate him more than I hate myself. I'd love him if he were a plump clucking chunker." _

"Why, so you could cuddle him like a pet?"

"_Exactly. Turning something dangerous and vile into something harmless and fluffy and cute. I've got a little boy at home who would love a pet." _

The image returned to her. Her mother, all hunched and screechy, squeezing her and pulling her hair, just so she could savor a bit of love. This imp was even uglier than the one who had taken her mother, and the way it, _he _looked at her with that same vicious longing…

"You're hideous, inside and out."

This seemed to pain him. He tucked his ears low and squirmed when she twisted the wand even deeper into his neck.

"_I've never seen you here before. How'd you find your way into Roddy McFoul's house? Don't tell me a woman like you would stoop so low. He's an ugly duck, and you're… you're beautiful." _

"He's nice to me. I've had a hard life, and yeah, he's a bit of a schnoz, but he's… he's kind of sweet, and he lets me live here as long as I keep applying the wards. How'd you get past them?"

The imp ignored her question. "_You think he's… sweet? Don't tell me you_ like _him. Gag. That's a total joke, right?"_

"No, I don't _like _him. He's not my type."

"_What is your type? Rugged? Woodsy? Mousy sweetheart?" _

"You like to talk a lot, don't you? Why don't you tell me how you got past the wards around the house, and we'll call it a night."

"_Can't do that yet. He spat on me, and now I have to eat all his cake." _

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Yes. Eat all of it. He doesn't need that in the house. The wards? Hm?"

"_The wards, the wards… I'll tell you how I got through the wards for a kiss, milady!" _

He seemed way too eager for this. Eliza jabbed the wand. A thin crackle of green static lit up his throat, and he whined.

"_They're ill-made, princess. Negative thoughts make them stronger." _

"Is that so? Well, I'll tell you I'm not a princess, nor duchess, nor any sort of _lady _you can imagine. I'm a witch, and I lived in the woods for most of my life, and… I don't know why I'm here. Maybe I like having people around who are at least a little nice to me."

"_Haven't you ever been in love?" _

"Yeah. With a dryad. That's my type. Dryads. So you can take your bony ass and drag it as far away from Edelweiss as you can. Got it?"

Her wand flickered, and the imp nodded. But before he scampered off down the stairs to steal his cake, he seized her wrist and planted a wet, thin-lipped kiss on her hand. His whole face turned blue, and his grin grew as big as the crescent moon now hanging from the black, black clouds.

"_I _love _you, my princess! Stay away from Roderich! He'll bring you nothing! Goodnight!" _

When he was gone, she turned her attention to the dark room. She thrust open the door and looked within. Something moaned on the floor. Her slipper hit something soft, and she realized it was Roderich's face.

"Roddy. Roddy, are you all right? What did he do to you?"

She seized his arms and propped him up against the wall. Her wand lit up. A green orb of light floated out to illuminate the room. Roderich's nightshirt was slashed at the shoulder. Eliza got a good look at several scars lining his skin beneath the fabric. He choked, then doubled over and spat out a glob of black sludge that melted on the floor in front of him. Something reed-like pushed past his lips. He tugged at it and revealed it to be a feather at least a foot long. A few more spilled from his throat when he coughed.

A belly full of feathers. So that was the failure.

"Eliza?" His voice came out thin and raspy. He gasped at the sight of her, then clawed at his chest. "You're… not supposed to see me like this."

"Why wouldn't you come get me?"

"I tried. He makes my limbs useless, and once he makes me drink the potions, it hurts too much. Did you see him? He's real. Believe me. _Believe_ me!"

"Do you feel sick? Should I get your aunt?"

"No! She never believes me. She's just like my parents. But you have to believe me, _please."_

His eyes lit up in the darkness, huge and frightened and so, so very _purple. _

"Have your eyes always been that color?"

"They used to be blue… like my mother's. Help me up. My stomach doesn't hurt as much. I think they're all gone. Wait… one more."

He belched, and a feather as thick as his hand fell out of his mouth with a _splat _in the puddle of upset. His lips were all coated in fuzz. Eliza pulled him to his feet and helped him get back into bed, wiping his face with her handkerchief. The floor of the bedroom was all wet and sticky with feathers, still warm under the soles of her slippers. They stank, but Roderich was utterly indifferent, and it worried her greatly.

"You have the Blemish of Comanix Max," she explained. "It's got something to do with black bile. This substance all humans have that physically represents sadness. When there's enough of it, and it's exposed to magic, a chemical reaction occurs that presents itself as a change in eye color."

"That's not real, though. The black bile. It's poetic stuff."

She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "When did the change happen?"

"I suppose it happened the night my parents were cursed. I remember seeing nothing but red, then everything turned purple. Oh, it's simple. My eyes were blue, and that imp's energy manifests as red. Enough curses in me, and they mixed."

"No, no, it's definitely the Blemish of Comanix Max. Seeing your parents cursed produced enough melancholy to react with the curses."

"I don't care, Eliza. Just… will you let me rest? I—"

She slipped her arms around him and squeezed. Tight, tighter, until his idle back popped. His dark hair was soft on her cheek, almost brushing the place above her ear where she had none. His body was so fragile, she felt like she could break him. He shivered, and she rubbed his back.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Half the time I didn't believe you. I was just indulging you so I could live here. You didn't turn me away."

"Is this supposed to be a compliment? I don't like being touched."

"It's a hug, you ass."

"Oh…"

It was the only thing he could voice, for he was exhausted. But slowly, he straightened himself and put his arms around her waist, nuzzling his cheek into her shoulder and giving a long, soft breath out.

Together they sat, holding one another with no exchanges needed, until Eliza lay his sleeping form back on the bed and tucked him in. She left and returned shortly with some herbs and a tiny vial of rosewater, the healing fluid she'd been using on her toes. Gently, she let a few drops of it trickle past his lips. He cringed in his sleep, but a little smile appeared for a second, and that was what she wanted.

"Thank you, Roderich."

Once more, she ran her fingers through his hair, then extinguished her wand and returned to bed, wondering if feathers could be any softer.

* * *

**BONUS: **

Gilbert flew down the stairs, his heart enraptured and his spirit soaring higher and higher. He'd _kissed _her! He'd kissed her and told her he loved her! Never mind the circumstances. This was a night to remember! And he would begin the celebration with all the cake he could find in Roderich's icebox.

"I can't believe his stupid aunt keeps making it for him! Nah, he probably makes it for himself. But why would she let him? Too much cake is bad for humans. I learned that by finding out what Luddy eats. Mmmmm, her skin was so soft~! Like silk, no, grass on a hill! With silk on it! And, EH!?"

A wraith the size of a small child stared at him from the kitchen counter with eyes that glowed blue in the dark. It had pulled open the cabinet above and appeared to be stuffing its face with something from within. No movements were made as Gilbert approached. The wraith simply stared him down, then hissed as if keeping its territory. Gilbert dared to step closer. The wraith's face was concealed in shadows, but Gilbert could make out the smear of chocolate frosting all over its fingers and face.

"Eh, hey, any cake left for me, kid?" Gilbert joked.

The wraith bared its teeth, which swelled and stretched into gleaming yellow fangs.

"Fuck off."

* * *

**~N~**

**I was reading in bed, which always makes me sleepy, and instead of taking a nap, I got up and wrote this in one sitting. That's a first for this series. ^^ Oh well, boring paper to write tomorrow, so I got the sillies out tonight. **

**A propher is a small mouselike creature, shaped like a banana with no tail. They feed on dream energy and can jump super high! Usually found in dark, messy places. **

**Next episode: TBD**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net 25 April 2020. Find your Zen and push through these fake-feeling finals! Don't repost. **


	16. 2:8 Fishy Fritz and Luddy Hugs

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**16\. Fishy Fritz and Luddy Hugs**

**Gilbert dreams of mackerel, the planet Jupiter, and a smirky double. **

* * *

**I. **

_Gilbert is sitting at a little round table beside a seaside café. Above him is an umbrella letting myriad patches of sunlight and shadow stream through its crimson fabric in a mosaic of shades. The sea air rolls up on a wind and makes Gilbert's mouth water. He looks to his left, where the huge gray-blue coils of the sea lunge upon the sand like giant snails before falling prostrate and drawing out again. Gilbert has never seen the sea, only the river that flows ever north toward it. But he assumes ocean waves look like giant snails and the beachy sun occasionally splits like an egg with two yolks. _

_He turns back and drums his fingers upon the table's cool metallic surface. He wears his true fingers, all long and gnarled and splintered from yesterday's firewood collection. It is on Gilbert's agenda to teach Ludwig how to collect the wood himself. He is nearly six years old, and still growing! He can fetch a few logs to keep the tower warm in the winter, right? Anything so Gilbert doesn't have to be Wilhelm at home! _

"_Can you, Lud?" He asks. Ludwig is sitting across from him at the table, sipping a cup of juice. His hair is too long again. It is time to get the bowl out and trim that fringe. _

"_Can I what?" _

"_Can you collect firewood all by yourself? You're getting big and strong." _

"_Why can't you do it?" _

"_Because I have to sleep to save up my strength. My archnemesis was approved for the PPP, and by that I mean the Poultry Plumpness Potion. The tweaked recipe needs a strong eagle to carry it all the way to Idle-vice." _

"_A strong eagle can carry wood," Ludwig chirps, a sly grin spreading on his face. _

"_Aren't you a cheeky swapling, human-born and fairy-bred…" _

"_Fairy bread? What does that taste like?" _

"_Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz," Gilbert grumbles. "Hey, waiter! Waiter! The exceedingly dangerous Dark Wizard Gilbert and his chirpy chick boy are hungry!" _

_The waiter materializes before the table. He is not the frazzled boy galavanting around with cakes on platters and egg dishes that are much too small, but a severe albino human traipsing about in a frilly pink apron. Merciless cheekbones outline a thick, blocky jaw under the most curious poof of white hair, almost like the fur of a puppy. He produces a notepad from the pocket on the seat of his pants and scrutinizes Gilbert with a sparkle of wit lighting up magenta eyes. _

"_You're a piece o' work!" He speaks in a voice like Gilbert's rasp, but deeper and lighter in spirit. "Somebody takes Halloween way too seriously. Are those your ears or big slabs of mackerel?" _

_These ears fold down in annoyance as Gilbert groans. "I don't need your cheek, too, you pale goblin. But if you're going to suggest the mackerel, I'll take some. I've been craving it all day, actually. Nothing but mackerel for my bottomless stomach." _

"_I want fairy bread!" Ludwig says. _

_With a cackle, the waiter snaps his fingers, and the requests shimmer into existence on the table. Ludwig digs into a perfectly tiny loaf of blueberry bread. It has been the seat of a glowing blue pixie, who beats the boy's fingers with her wand and pulls his ears until he cannot stop laughing. _

_Gilbert has his plate of mackerel, sliced nicely into pointed slabs that look, with some imagination, like his proud ears. These are all white and smooth on the inside and shiny silver on the edges. He has never tried mackerel before, but true to word, he has been craving it all day. Craving it to the point of tears. Craving it like nothing else could satisfy. _

_He scoops it up and happily takes a bite. _

_It is the slimiest, fishiest glob of aquatic garbage to ever cross his palate._

**II.**

Gilbert woke up smacking his lips and gagging. That damn mackerel dream _again! Why _couldn't he ever stop himself from eating the mackerel!? Was the silver sheen that alluring? Was the sea-salt smell really to die for? Gilbert wasn't even sure he liked seafood in the first place. Why would he crave it in a dream?

He shivered at the winter air seeping through the cracks in his window before throwing on a shirt and cloak with trousers. The "Great Imp-festation," as it was being remembered, had limited his ability to travel, and so his productivity was in a constant state of slump. Luckily he'd taken up sock knitting in the evenings if he had absolutely nothing to do.

It was not snowing, true of early winter in the Rheinland. Sunlight slanted through the crystals of frost and glittered eerily in the wispy morning light. Down below was the meager wood pile, stacked in its shed. A copper-bladed saw lay idle where it had been tossed, and the crows found pleasure in pecking at its shiny edges.

"Ludwig," Gilbert began as he staggered up the spiral staircase to his brother's floor. "Time to get up. We're finishing that wood collection today, and then you're getting a haircut and a bath. We can't have you looking like a Toadmuffin. Lud? Hey, Luddy. Lutz..."

Gilbert approached the bed on the far wall, nearly tripping over a hand-whittled frog. Wooden animals were on parade all over the floor, beginning with the eagle and ending with the mouse. Some right human mischief was at work. These toys had all been put away the previous evening. When Gilbert at last reached the bed, he found no little Lud, but only the pillows and quilts where he should have been sleeping soundly.

"Well, at least he plays with the animals. I know he wants a soldier for his birthday, but he'll settle for a seal or a horse."

A sudden clamor broke out. Gilbert's sensitive ears twitched, and he picked up the sound of voices two floors below. One was Ludwig's, but the other… Why would he be hearing a second?

Bony feet slammed into the steps, bringing Gilbert to the first floor. Here the sunlight couldn't quite reach, and the single greenish beam pouring in from the western window was slight. That window had to be cleaned, and all this black currant jam now smeared across surfaces and languishing in a broken jar on the floor called for a rag. But Gilbert wasn't concerned with chores at the moment. He was concerned that Ludwig was sitting over on the couch with a boy no more than three in his arms. Ludwig squeezed him and patted his back and petted his hair all gently, like he was a little bird.

The guest turned his head, and besides the jam all over his face, Gilbert made out the tell-tale darkness in his eyes. That was no lost toddler in Ludwig's arms. That was a magical mooch!

"Out! Out! Get lost, _imp!_ Lud, let him go. He's going outside. No, we are not giving him any of our food! We don't have enough as it is! _Out!" _

With some coercion, Ludwig let go, and Gilbert showed the other child the door. When he was so deep in the woods Gilbert couldn't see him anymore, he whispered a bewilderment charm after him, then frowned as he turned back inside the tower. Ludwig was sheepishly ascending the stairs.

"Hey, pancake-ears. Come wipe up this jam."

The boy turned on his heel and returned to Gilbert, a sad mood sinking into his features. He took a damp rag and began to wipe up the smears, which covered everything from the table to the floor to the potion bottles to the bird-perch.

Gilbert carefully pecked at the broken glass with his claws. "We don't hug strangers. I've told you this before. And now you don't just hug a stranger, but you bring him home with you? This tower is a secret place, Lud. The path only reveals itself to those who have permission. You can't give permission to someone you don't know."

"He wanted a hug."

"Well, so do I, but I don't go around asking for it."

Ludwig set down the rag and rushed over to squeeze Gilbert around the middle. The changeling nearly stumbled and fell from the impact.

"I said _no, _Lud! You don't hug strangers, and you don't hug people without asking first!"

"But you said—"

"You still ask first. And you know how fragile my bones are. You have to be gentle with me."

"He was like you, right? I guessed that he was. He said he was really scared and hungry, and he has five sib-il-ings at home, and his mama doesn't hug him be… because—"

"So he found you playing outside _without my supervision,_ and he asked for a hug. And what did you do?"

"I gave him a hug."

"And then?"

"Then I bringed him here, and he broke the jam jar because he was excited." Ludwig's voice trailed off into nothingness. He played with his hands and bowed his head in that pitiful way he always did when scolded. Strings of blond hair fell into his huge blue eyes.

But the changeling wasn't fooled. Ludwig was never the most fragile creature in the room.

Gilbert petted his brother while mining breakfast biscuits out of the hollow cupboards. Ach, a food run was needed, too. "Maybe what you did wasn't wrong. Maybe he did need some help. But my people… you can never tell with us. We lie, and we help ourselves before we help others. Sad for him, I know, but he left because he understands he's on someone else's turf. This is my hideout, my food, _my _wellspring…"

"What's a wellspring?"

"It's, er… It's the well outside, where water comes from. The point is, it would be irresponsible to help someone just because he's like me. Not every changeling has got his wits about him. I can't say I do."

"You're not crazy."

"Crazy, like most untrustable things, is fluid from day to day. If I'm not crazy now, I'll be crazy tomorrow. Now seriously, swapling. Even with other humans, you can't keep your hands to yourself. Tonight I can teach you to hug me without splitting my ribs, but for the love of squash, quit hugging strangers!"

"I'm sorry. It's a habit."

"A habit is something you do without thinking, like chewing your cheeks or dreaming about fish. You can choose not to hug someone, and so you can skip the consequences."

"But there weren't any con-se-quen-ces."

"Oh, yes there are. After breakfast, you're going to carry all the wood I cut to the shed, and we are going to fill it to the top."

Ludwig gave an enormous groan.

**III. **

_It is a patch of earth far, far away from the dark, gloomy winter of the Rheinland. Here only green grass and wildflowers push up through easy soil to flourish and sparkle in the sunlight. Millions of tulips open moistened lips to the dew, and the full scent of lilacs and wisteria steep the atmosphere in freshness. _

_Under this blue sky, tainted with only the wispiest whips of clouds, Gilbert sits out on a burlap blanket. Below him roll hills and rivers and a windmill or two. Somewhere in the distance, he knows the sea roils and rumbles o'er the sodden rocky shore. But here in the highland, Gilbert smiles at a snail undulating steadily upon the stalk of a dandelion, which bends from its sludgy weight and collapses into a bridge. _

"_A perfect day," Gilbert remarks before flopping on his back. Ludwig sits next to him, squeezing the stoic plushness of a cotton skein dyed purple. Gilbert has been knitting a sock. It drapes across him now as he reaches his arms toward the infinite cotton poofs beyond his fingertips. Cotton smells wonderful, and the aromas of this place melt into a hazy dream of pleasant sensations. Gilbert's ears tingle, then flick in bliss. Now, if only he could transform into a snail or a toad, just so he could experience life at its slowest and simplest… _

"_How are you feeling?" Gilbert drawls. _

_Ludwig looks pensive, then tugs at the skein so a long noodle of yarn spills out the end. "You should wear a hat," he says. "You'll get burnt." _

"_Ach, I don't need to wear a hat. This is a dream, Ludling. The moon is red and spits fire at Jupiter, there, while dazzle-ringed Saturn laughs. Heh. Jupiter has always rubbed me the wrong way. Why does the firmament's bloated lightweight get hymns of praise? He's a gassy windbag with dozens of moons in his hold. I'm sure he changes his queen day by day." _

"_Sounds like a personal problem," says Ludwig, nodding earnestly. _

"_I can show Jupiter my moon." _

"_Please don't." _

"_Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz." _

_Ludwig sets the cotton down upon the burlap and opens the picnic basket. Just within is that same severe albino human, shrunken down to the size of a stringbean. He is missing the apron and is now decked out in soil-stained slacks, a sunhat, and glasses. He crouches down in the basket, then emerges with a moon-shaped cake for Ludwig. He then folds his arms and grins up at the changeling. _

"_You took the sharp-toothed look too far! I didn't know fairies were related to sharks!" He cackles. _

"_I didn't know a vampire could be so full of himself!" _

"_Not a vampire, my skinny friend," says the tiny man, taking off his sunhat and letting his hair puff up like a cloud of cotton. "Whaddaya want? Mackerel again?" _

_Something irks Gilbert about this suggestion, but the offer is too tempting. Perhaps this time, he will like the mackerel. He nods, and a plate of silvery fish rises from the depths of the basket. Gilbert licks his lips. It is only a thin edge, but the silver is glinting so beautifully in the light of the teasing sun. _

"_How's it going, kid?" Fritz asks from his seat on the edge of the plate. "No, don't answer that. Just eat. I cut and salted this all for you. If you bite into it, you can taste my spirit." _

"_How nice of you, Fritzy," Gilbert says. Then he plucks up a cut with his claws and plops it in his mouth. _

_Instantly, the fishy taste sours his palate. The white flesh is infused with a juice that squirts out from every angle as he chews. It fills up his mouth and swells out his cheeks until he is forced to gulp it down. He tries to swallow the mackerel, but he gags and keeps chewing. He will not spit this out! He will get it down somehow! Even if the nasty juice is rushing out of the fish like a roaring cataract, pouring down his throat and steadily reversing the inward curve of his stomach… churning and swelling and rounding out…_

**IV. **

"It was _deviant _the amount of fish juice that filled up my whole body. Nasty, nasty fish juice. I woke up before I could swell into a fish-shaped balloon," Gilbert said as he cut with the homemade glass knife. Tufts of blond hair littered the dusty ground beneath the stool where Ludwig sat. Gilbert adored balancing the bowl and trimming around its rim. The style was clean and simple, and it made Ludwig's head look like a big yellow mushroom. Changelings have always found mushrooms especially endearing.

"That can't happen," said Ludwig. "My science book says you can't fill up with fish juice. It only goes into your stomach."

"Anything can happen in a dream, especially a weird afternoon nap dream."

"How do you turn into a fish?"

"Why, I could turn into a fish in real life if I wanted to. That's only a matter of changeling magic."

"My books don't explain changeling magic. How does it work? Can I transform too?"

Gilbert pulled his lips to the side. He placed his knife hand on Ludwig's shoulder to make him quit fidgeting so much, then carefully sliced off the greasy ends covering the back of Ludwig's neck. The skin beneath was so pale. Indeed, the boy was overdue for this.

He ignored the questions. "Do you like those science books? I can get you more. Your birthday is just around the corner. Seventeenth of December."

"I want a soldier, like Thomas has."

"But the books make you so smart! You're like an expert on the human body now."

"It's the same as yours. You just have big ears and white skin."

"It's more than that! Last week, your front tooth fell right out of your mouth! And you just had to be cheeky about it. I pored over tooth-restoration potions all night before you got out that science book and explained it was a _baby _tooth. I never had baby teeth. Right out of the puddle of shadowy muck I had these fangs to munch my lunch!"

The last fringes of blond were cut from Ludwig's head and were scooped up by the crows for warmth in the winter alcoves. Gilbert brushed off his brother's shoulders, then removed the bowl and fluffed up the rest of the greasy mop.

"What do you want in your bath? More blue bubbles that smell like cake?"

Ludwig spun around and stood way too fast, and Gilbert almost nicked his neck with the glass. Startled, he pushed the boy back onto the stool. But just as his bottom touched the seat, he was up again, with his arms wrapped around Gilbert's ribs. He was gentler, Gilbert had to admit. But still not a favorable turn of events.

"What's all this about? You didn't ask again. Even if you're excited for a bath, you should ask before hugging."

Ludwig loosened his grip, shivering in the sudden gust of winter wind. "Brother…" he started. "I don't like being different."

Gilbert crouched, then lifted up Ludwig's chin with a long finger. "Different from who? From me?"

The boy nodded. "And… and also from other kids. 'Cause I'm a swap, um, a swapling. I don't know who my family is. And… I have to teach you human things, because you don't know."

"Well, then you're not the different one. I'm the different one. I've always been the different one. Just look at me."

"You're not different."

"Why not?"

"Because you're… I don't know. You're just a changeling. Maybe lots of people don't like you, but I like you."

Gilbert gave a huge, shiny grin, from ear to pointed ear. He held back his laughter until his throat squeezed tight, then let it all out in a whoop that stirred up a minor gale. He patted Ludwig's back as he directed him to the bathhouse behind the tower.

"Oh, kid! 'Just a changeling!' '_Just _a changeling! To think I could ever sound so humble! 'Just a changeling.' Right there. Kids are so easily influenced. It's dangerous the kinds of things you could put into kids' heads by being frank and sounding serious. 'Just a changeling,' he says. He could say, 'Just a tyrannical overlord.' 'Just a child-thieving rat-goblin.' 'Just every kind of phobia personified."

"You're only afraid of _fire."_

"Wetness fights fire. So strip. Let's get that tush in the tub."

**V. **

_The view outside is mesmerizing. _

_Gilbert peers out the window to see the whole of the universe cast before him. For an instant, he sees his own world — a blue-and-green marble bubbled over with the thinnest wrapping of air — before it zooms away from him and is absorbed by the inky blackness of space. Hosts of stars and planets pour from nowhere into being, lighting up the infinite night before twinkling away and fizzing out as light changes to darkness. Nebulae of vivid pinks and greens and oranges spread great wings and shape into dragons and unicorns and eagles, with giant stars for eyes and black holes distorting the waving tendrils of each hazy dream. As the whole of reality speeds into the distance, even the stars cease, and what remains is a vague veil of pulsing color. Gilbert sees the edge of existence. Green earth and red wind. White mist and blue fire. And the other element, Undecimessence, which is a perfect, exact shade of brown. From the other side of the veil comes the murmur of millions of voices — praying for love from butter-knife rosaries and spaghetti shrines to the Ancient Painter, frivolous and frightening at once. _

"_Oh, sorry I left that open." _

_A shade is drawn over the window, and Gilbert finds himself back in the warmth of the castle keep. Loud, brassy music pops in his sensitive ears as he's blinded by all the lights. Flashing orbs are trapped in glass spheres suspended all over the inside walls of the place. Red carpets and green tables populate the floor, while a number of guests, human and inhuman, drink from bulbous glasses and kiss with snakelike tongues. Gilbert smells bacon and chocolate and roasted corn. _

_The shade has been drawn by the severe albino human, who is seated at one of the green tables between him and Gilbert. He wears a white cotton button-down with a midnight blue bowtie. His white hair is all fluffed up with gel, and his pearly teeth glisten when he cracks a smile and fidgets with a deck of cards. _

"_You gonna place your bet, or what? You seem pretty confident tonight. Little word of advice, though. Don't drink the chocolate milk. Someone keeps putting Itessence in it. Stupid Praxium shortage and the pirates put Itessence in everything." _

"_Eh, it's not too bad," says the man on Gilbert's left, fingering his chips. He leans back and basks in the blinding lights shining on his suit. The shine glints off his glasses, yet does nothing to conceal the haughty gleam in sky-blue eyes. "Once you build up a resistance, all you need to worry about is fighting the cowardly urges. It's been eight time-crystals since the stuff made me transform." _

"_You're lying," says the dealer. "I borrowed your winter hat when we went skiing on Europa, and what did I find? A curly red hair." _

"_That was old!" _

"_All that tumbling down hills made you queasy, and you still wanted spaghetti afterwards. Admit it. You transformed into Italy, and _that's _why you didn't take off the ski mask." _

"_It was… okay, I hadn't done it in a while, and he's got super speed!" _

"_You used an Itapotion to cheat in our race, Alfred. And if you don't think I'm gonna find your dream journal to prove it, you are dead wrong." _

"_Yeah, well I bet that my dream journal stays hidden, and you tell Germs about the time you drank the Germapotion so you could bench more. Tell him about all the transformation power-up potions." _

"_The potions were your idea, ya frickin' deviant..." _

"_Okay, okay, how 'bout this. Blackjack. All in, and the loser has to read his dream journal out loud at the next world meeting." _

_The dealer lets cards rain all over the table, and "Alfred" counters with a childish rain of chips. Gilbert turns away, but not before the dealer shoves something in the back of his collar. _

"_Hm? What was that?" Alfred asks. "Different dimension? I can't see the guy." _

"_You wouldn't wanna see the guy." _

_The object scratches at the back of Gilbert's neck. _**Mackerel,** _it whispers in his ears. _**Tasty mackerel.** _It has a woman's voice, so sweet and encouraging. The scratching intensifies, and Gilbert winces when he feels something rough chafing his skin raw. It feels all wiggly and scaly. _

_He reaches back and pulls it out by its tail. It is a live mackerel, though above the lower fins, the silver scales end, and suntanned flesh begins. It wriggles furiously, shaking its wild head of chestnut hair. Gilbert lays it out on his hand and discovers it to be a mermaid. Her body is all dripping with silver, and when she squirms like a fish out of water, the scales of her tail sparkle in the flashing lights. Gilbert's stomach gurgles noisily. He blushes blue and cups the mackerel mermaid carefully in his hands. She is so small. So delicate. A light midnight snack! _

"_I shouldn't," he says. "Right, Ludwig? I can't eat her. She won't taste very good." _

_Ludwig shrugs from his place on the barstool. His juice cup is empty, and he asks for another. "There's nothing else to do," he says. "You might as well eat both. Find out what mer-mackerel tastes like." _

"_Both?" _

_He looks down to find a little merperson in each hand. The silvery mermaid reaches out for the silvery merman's hand. The two pull each other closer, gasping and shuddering without water. _

"_Which do I eat first? Each is small, but has to have some good flavor." _

"_Your words, not mine." _

"_Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz. I'm eating both at once. Watch me." _

_The merpeople finally embrace. Gilbert flops both into one hand and holds the snack up to the lights. Two pairs of eyes open to reveal purple and green. The merpeople pull each other into a passionate kiss before falling down into Gilbert's gaping gullet. He swallows both whole. _

_Or… tries to… _

_Wracked by the abhorrent taste of mackerel, he pitches forward and bonks his head on the blackjack table before collapsing on the carpeted floor. The fish sticks in his throat, unmoving. Gilbert sees spots. Even in a dream, his limbs start to tingle and ache. His chest burns as if a great iron weight is pressing down harder and harder. And while no air can enter his lungs, even in a dream, the fish juice keeps pouring down to pool in his stomach. It dissolves away his insides like the foulest acid and bubbles up through the cavity of his ribcage. _

_Above him, Alfred screeches at his loss._

**VI. **

Gilbert groaned in the darkness. He sucked in a quick breath of air as his mind surfaced from the ambiguity of dreams. The warm bubble beneath his quilts was a comfort like he'd never known. He traced his hands over his stomach and ribs to find all was correct. Nothing blocked his windpipe, and no fish juice stained his lips.

He turned his head and flinched at the sight of two blue eyes glinting above his bed.

"Luddy, what are you doing up?"

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"I… yeah, the mackerel one again. Why?"

"Um, well… I was upstairs, and I heard you making noises."

"I don't make noises in my sleep. You got spooked by the owls again. You can't lie to me."

Ludwig nodded. "Why do the owls stare at me?"

"The owls are my loyal servants who watch over us while we sleep. Protecting us."

Ludwig still trembled. He was clutching his favorite dachshund-patterned quilt in his little hands and puckering his eyebrows. He tilted his head in a forlorn fashion toward the bed, but made no movements. Then, after shifting on his feet, he spoke in a whisper.

"Brother, can I sleep with you? A-and may I please give you a hug?"

Gilbert frowned, but slowly lifted himself up to sit against the backboard. He nodded and patted the place next to him. Ludwig dove right into bed. The little one spread his quilt over his legs, then reached out to wrap his arms around Gilbert. It was a light and gentle hug. Little hands rubbed circles on the changeling's back the way he had instructed. He returned the embrace, squeezing Ludwig tight against his chest and nuzzling his beak into mushroom-shaped hair. The boy smelled wonderfully of cake after his bath.

"You're safe," Gilbert whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too."

When Ludwig was comforted enough, both he and Gilbert slid down under the covers and got snug to sleep. Gilbert closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, while Ludwig snuggled close and lay his head on his brother's shoulder.

"I can't be fun to snuggle with. I'm all bony."

"You're soft over the bones."

"That's modest."

"Why do you keep dreaming about mackerel?"

Gilbert wrinkled his nose, remembering how awful that fish tasted. It kept getting worse, too, from annoying to deadly. And that last dream… the mackerel were merpeople… purple and green… and a human who looked somewhat like himself, feeding him mackerel, no, _serving _him mackerel…

"Habits," said Gilbert at last. "It's about bad habits."

"Like my hugging?"

"Why do you hug, Ludwig?"

"Because the other person wants one."

"No, it's because _you _want one. You don't know whether the other person wants it. And if you don't know the other person, you might be putting yourself in harm's way. You put _me_ in harm's way when you squeeze too hard. But still you hug because you believe you'll get some good out of it."

"What does that have to do with fish?"

"Because, Lud, I… I have a bad habit, too. I put myself in a situation with the potential to harm me, and though I know it can harm me, I keep going because it's the little goodness I want. Like the silver skin of mackerel. It's so shiny. I don't have to put myself in that situation, but some bad part of me always offers it. Always pushes it my way. Always teases me until I get curious enough. I told you that crazy shifts and changes from day to day. But sometimes it has a routine. Routine crazy is continuing to eat the mackerel when it's offered."

"Can you stop eating the mackerel?"

Gilbert tilted his head to look at Ludwig. His brows were drawn together in concern. The fresh bangs draping across his forehead framed his face so nicely. If Lud only knew the kind of messed-up life his "just a changeling" brother led from day to day, perhaps he'd beg for a book on the changeling body and accelerate his little aspiration to be a wizard. Dear Fritz, Gilbert had no idea how humans were supposed to develop mentally, but he had a feeling Ludwig was very smart for his age. As smart as he was cute.

And so… he couldn't lie.

"It's very, very hard to me to stop eating mackerel. It's mental mackerel. It messes with my head. I can stop putting myself in the mackerel situation, but I still crave it, and the bad taste stays with me for a long time."

Ludwig sighed as he snuggled closer, patting Gilbert's chest. "I'll help you crave cake instead. Cake tastes better than mackerel."

Gilbert smiled. He petted the boy's hair, then gave him a soft kiss on the forehead.

"Yes it does, chirpy chick."

_But even seeing her from afar is better than cake. _

He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling above, willing it to change into the edge of the universe.

_She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you. She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you. She doesn't love him. She doesn't hate you… _

On and on into dreamland.

* * *

**~N~**

**Here's my obligatory "kid character crawls into big character's bed" segment. Of course I feel the need to give the scene a purpose, and so we have a discussion of bad habits/behaviors. Can you guess what Gilbert's mackerel is? Extra points if you can tell me the common word that isn't used ONCE in this episode, to show how habits can be evaded.**

**Special guests! XD Yep, Gilbert's "bad side" was represented by canon Prussia. This isn't the first time a canon character shows up in a dream. Chapter 42 of **_**Hetafata,**_ **anyone? I based his description on how I saw him in a dream. Floofy hair, a blocky jaw like Germany, and pretty pink eyes. The scene with him and America is based on my headcanon that America's savant imagination makes him an excellent lucid dreamer. He creates whole worlds for himself to explore. Our Lord Prussia, being both alive and dead, isn't limited to one frame of existence and can warp himself into dreams/other dimensions as he pleases. Once Al finds this out, the two have some weird and wacky adventures.**

**The Jupiter scene was inspired by the real-life convergence of the moon, Saturn, and Jupiter right now. Yet another metaphor in Gilbert's life. sIGH. **

**Next episode: Its origin was trivial. Its meaning was profound… and infuriating. **

**Published by Syntax-N May 16th, 2020. Don't eat the mackerel and don't repost, ya deviant. **


	17. 2:9 Burning Like a Fever

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**17\. Burning Like a Fever**

**A mysterious illness leaves Otto bedridden, and a chance encounter at the apothecary has Roderich's face burning for a different reason. **

**Inspired by "Show Me (What You Got)" — Black Gryph0n & Baasik**

* * *

"Nooo, stop. Don't _touch_ me!"

Otto's flesh seared under Roderich's two fingers. His forehead was caked in a cold sweat, and his shivering was only interrupted by labored breaths and jerking motions of his head to escape the spidery hands. He coughed, then pulled the covers up over his face and moaned.

Saying nothing, Roderich returned to the chair, where he picked up his clipboard and continued to rifle through paperwork. The process had been updated, meaning notaries themselves were now often responsible for much of the cataloguing. This meant longer forms, more signatures, dates, dates, dates, and more dates. The previous night he was sure he'd strained his eyes working under candlelight.

From under the blanket came a hacking sound, then a sickening bubble of liquid.

"Did you throw up?"

"A little," came Otto's weak whine of a voice. Roderich gritted his teeth and set the clipboard down. He took the wet cloth out of the bucket and wrenched back the covers to wipe upset off Otto's chest. The nightgown was already steeped in sweat and clinging to his skin. His little body vibrated at the cold. A few tears leaked from his eyes. He instantly wiped them and wriggled deeper into the bed's embrace.

"You shouldn't be under so many blankets. They'll trap heat. At least stick your feet out the end."

"My feet are the coldest," Otto whimpered.

"Then keep your head out."

The boy slowly peeled the blanket off. He shifted in bed so he lay on his side, blue eyes glazed and blond bangs plastered to his forehead. He bit his lip, but another round of tears was already streaming down his cheeks.

"Does it hurt that bad? You aren't much of a crier, usually."

Otto's eyes widened. He wiped his cheeks on his pillow, but the waterworks wouldn't quit.

"I… feel like I'm on fire."

"Did you eat something bad?"

"No. I don't know why I'm sick. Roderich… can I have…" He trailed off.

"What? What is it you need? Water? You threw up the last glass."

"Roderich… I'm... "

Roderich narrowed his purple gaze. Otto had come into his room and roused him on trembling legs at four in the morning, (giving him an awful fright,) and he'd been sitting in this armchair doing paperwork ever since. _Sick. _He couldn't imagine why Otto would get sick. His tutors were all healthy, and so were his playmates. And sick _overnight? _With a fever and cough _and _an upset stomach?

"What are you?"

"Hungry," his cousin whispered. "I'm hungry."

"We tried broth earlier. You couldn't keep it down. Try to sleep. I'll get a cold cloth if that makes you feel any better."

"Could you read to me? I might sleep if you read to me, but I'm very hungry, and I don't believe I'll be able to sleep if I can't try a little more broth… I… hungry, Roderich. Please?"

The tears kept streaming, and the shakes kept coming. If Roderich squinted, he fancied he could see _steam _pouring off the boy's forehead. He set aside the clipboard once more and left the room, returning shortly with a cold cloth which he wrapped around the back of Otto's neck. He helped the boy sit up in bed, then spoonfed him broth until, inevitably, he coughed it up again.

"Try and sleep," said Roderich.

"No! I have to eat! Please! I'll keep it down!"

"You cough up any more, and you'll have to get out of bed so I can change the sheets. You're a mess already."

"Water, then? I'll drink it very slow and careful. And I… nevermind."

"What?"

"I was going to ask for a hug, but I suppose that would get you sick, too."

"I don't do hugs, Otto. You're well aware."

"Ilse will not want to give me one, either. Not when I'm sick."

"You would bite her," Roderich said with a smirk.

"I do not bite anymore! That habit is quashed!"

"Yet neither Ilse nor I will take the risk of even nuzzling you. You're a menace. Sleep and let me finish. It takes forever to fill out one of these forms, and I've got a dozen more."

Luck for Roderich's paperwork was not to be had, for suddenly Ilse strode in. She took one look at Otto's pale, steamy skin and trembling frame and screeched.

"Oh! Otto, dear! Are you sick!?"

Otto wiped the tears away and scrunched himself small. "Yes, auntie. I woke up with a fever. Roderich was taking care of me. He won't let me have any broth."

For this last statement, the rod connected squarely with Roderich's left knee. Ilse had taken a fall some months back, and that cane was the devil's sympathy gift. Both boys were beaten and whacked for the slightest break in form or grace, and Ilse was too old to consider the matter of her reputation. If she was to live out the rest of her days as a fiendish cane-whacker, she'd see it through.

She knelt at the bedside and spoonfed Otto more while Roderich stewed behind his veil of shame. But, just as he had before, Otto spewed all over the sheets and began to cry, then asked for a hug and did not receive one.

Ilse placed a hand on his forehead. Her penciled-in eyebrows shot straight up. "You have a terrible fever! Roderich, sterilize something. We must let the blood."

Otto screamed.

"We're not letting the blood," Roderich scoffed. "Do you want him to get an infection?"

"How else will we level the fever? The physician let my blood when I was a girl."

"Then we should call a physician and take his judgment. When I was little, I was prescribed pills for my heart condition."

"This isn't some heart condition. Otto is boiling over! Look how much he's sweating! Poor child. He was fine last night, wasn't he? He hasn't been out in the rain, and he ate the same supper we did. Why would he look so awful now? Why would you, Otto?"

"I don't know," Otto said. "I feel… Oooh…"

He whined in his throat and curled up into a tight ball of sweaty flesh. Little fingers squeezed into his arms until the nails carved deep indents in the skin. His complexion had gone all blotchy, and his muscles were twitching. The steam on his forehead was no illusion now.

Seeing this, Ilse had a total fit. She called for Darleen, the maid who was dusting the hallway, and seemed to swell with anger at the poor woman, screeching orders to run a cold bath and posing threats with her cane. Then she turned to Roderich and poised the same look of fury. The bruise already forming on his knee smarted, and he flinched at the spark in his aunt's expression.

"You will go to the apothecary and find a doctor or medicine or _something _for these symptoms! Your cousin is _dying, _Roderich, so make it quick!"

The cane clipped his shoulder blades as he scurried out the door of Otto's room.

Birngarten awaited.

* * *

It was snowing in the city — the curse of higher elevation. Roderich lifted the edges of his coat and grimaced at the drifts. His regular ankle boots were quickly filling with crystals of ice and bits of dirt from the edge of the roadway. The walk was not too terribly far; he and Eliza had made it plenty of times when she was looking to steal salt or bargain for special spices.

He sighed. _Eliza. _That wild woman with a witchy wit… and her dreadful broomstick. If he ever got the chance again, he was sure he would spit up all over her hair as it flew back in his face. Or fall off the broomstick and into a snowbank. Either was perfectly plausible.

But after that… _incident… _

As soon as he was under the shade of an awning, Roderich hunched in on himself and shivered. His breath fogged on the lenses of his father's spectacles and further blurred the monochrome landscape of the city in winter. Windows were all crusted over with snow. Shadows seemed to stretch over surfaces, glazing them in a gray and gloomy mood. A chill wind whipped through the streets and tossed about the finest powder swirling in to blanket the solid drifts overtaking each empty alley and stone-cold street sign.

Roderich wiped the spectacles with his gloved fingers and set them back on his nose. The condensation had frozen around the frames, and the centers were all wet. Grunting, he pushed on until he came to Evell's Apothecary. Evell himself was not the family's regular physician, but for an emergency, he would have to suffice.

The young master let himself in through the front. Then his spectacles got _super _foggy. Defeated, he removed them and shoved them in his breast pocket.

"Hallo? Is anyone here? I need some emergency treatment. If there is a physician in this city at all… a very sick child at home!"

_BONK. _

"God! Shit!"

Roderich tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

"I'm under the counter. Just come over."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Roderich stepped up. Not a light shown in the place, save for a single gas lantern on the edge of the counter that flickered eerie orange patterns on the walls. Various bottles of pills and potions were disorganized behind the counter, along with gum and mints and relatively mundane oddities. The stark _cleanliness _sent a shiver down Roderich's spine. He would expect to find himself in the Black Study when searching for a remedy, not this place of ignorance and talc.

No, no, that was evil. It had been evil for years. Magic did not heal. It only enhanced… or destroyed. And he was not going to pour some sickening concoction down his little cousin's throat. Private affairs were only to be mentioned in riddles.

He peered over the edge of the counter to find a shaggy head bobbing beneath. This head was connected to a body in an overlarge jacket and trousers that sagged and wrinkled as the wearer wiggled. The sound of a rag scraping the floor was accompanied by soft humming. A rather familiar humming, at that.

That wild woman lifted her head, placing her elbows on the counter and pinching her brows together.  
"E… Eliza? Why are you here?"

She reached out and kneaded his face with dusty fingers. "These cheekbones get sharper every time I see you. Don't tell me you really are part ostrich."

"Why are—"

"I live here now, Roderich. I live and work here. You'd be surprised how much help a witch can be to doctors. Of course, my help is behind the scenes."

Roderich's brows raised in disgust. "No, you're no help at all. A doctor would never work with a witch."

"Like I said, behind the scenes."

"_I _could still use your help. I won't judge you for it."

Elize narrowed her gaze and stared at Roderich for a hard second. "They're fake," she said.

"What?"

"Your spectacles. You're not wearing them and looking at me perfectly straight. They're fake, aren't they."

"They're not fake," he said, taking them out of his pocket and setting them on his nose.

"They're totally fake. I'm sure the mole is fake, too."

"It's a scar."

"Why are you such an utter mess!?"

Roderich scrunched his nose. "I don't have time to hear about why you're angry. Otto is very sick, and if I don't return with something to alleviate the symptoms, my aunt will kill me for sure."

The witch cocked her head. "What symptoms?"

"A high fever, cough, upset stomach, and just before I left, he had muscle spasms and a rash. All of this came overnight. He was fine when he went to bed."

This was news to Eliza. "I can bring my whole satchel of remedies, but your aunt will have to let me in."

"Is there a physician here?"

"Everyone is sick in this city. It's sickness season."

"The young Duke of Liutberht may be dying!"

"What does Herr Edelstein want me to do about it?"

"You, you can…" Roderich's face flared with a fever of its own. She had once looked so pleasant, so warm and inviting and compassionate. Now she was cold, fierce, and wild as the winter snow. Her hair was unbrushed, and her boots were all scuffed and muddy. Roderich's throat squeezed tight as the groped for an answer. "You can come with me. Bring your satchel and throw on an illusion when we get there. She just wants results. If you can give her those—"

Eliza snorted through her nose. She retreated to the back of the counter, where she slipped on her coat and gloves, then grabbed her satchel out of a secret hollow behind some loose bricks. "Take me to Edelweiss. And make me feel like a lady."

"This isn't about you."

She shoved past him to the door. "Respect is about everyone."

* * *

_No night's sleep had ever left Roderich feeling so refreshed. If not for the dreadful stink about the room, he could argue he was still dreaming. His lungs felt clear, his stomach was calm, and his throat was free of stickiness. He peered down at his hands and fashioned they were peachier and fleshier. His hair was all silky, like it was freshly-washed, and even his skin felt tight and moisturized. _

"_Good morning," came Eliza's dull voice near the bed. She was down on hands and knees, fiercely scrubbing at the mess of bile and feathers. She gave no smile, but focused intently on her rag and the sterile scent of soap. _

_A stab of dread wracked Roderich from the inside out, but the witch's presence assuaged his fears. "You… what did you do? Some miracle? I don't feel any ulcers." _

"_Rosewater," she said. "It's a panacea. I had a small bottle of it for blisters, so I gave you a few drops." _

"_I've never felt this healthy. Let me help you." _

_He set his feet on the floor with ease, then knelt next to her. His fingers squished in upset, and he __winced at such nastiness. All of this… mounds of feathers… had been _inside _him? _

_He took the other rag and scooped sticky piles of feathers into the other bucket, then helped with scrubbing. The soap was harsh on his skin, but rosewater's power kept it soft and smooth. Eliza continued to say nothing. She worked with a stone face and purposefully spared him her gaze. _

"_What's bothering you?" _

"_I didn't believe you," she said. "I didn't believe he was real until I saw him." _

_Something snarled within him. Betrayal. Anger. Quick acceptance and a lasting, cynical bite. What made her any different from his parents or his aunt? She was an outsider. She was no wicked creature's pet. Still… he'd thought her smarter. _

_He was about to speak again when Ilse's aura filled the room. The wicked woman stood in the doorway with a frown that melted like flickering lava. _

"_Boy," she voiced. "You ate an entire cake by yourself in the middle of the night." _

_Roderich shivered. "I…" _

"_And what the hell is this mess!? Are these _feathers? _So this witch of a girl has been performing rituals in this house, has she? I knew I couldn't trust her. She's polluting your head! Don't you remember what magic did to your uncle Albert? What _you _did to him?" _

_Eliza stood and faced her. Roderich opened his mouth, but could not stop the inevitable. _

"_These feathers are the work of dark magic, but it's not mine. It belongs to the imp who tortures Roderich for fun. He was here last night. He forced Roderich to drink a potion that made feathers grow inside him. The imp ate all the cake, too. Don't chastise Roderich when none of this was his fault." _

_Roderich reached up and seized her hand. "Eliza, no," he sputtered. "Don't argue. I'm mad. It was madness." _

"_You _are _mad, you sniveling man-child! Where's that tact I taught you? Do you squander it to spite me when I saved you from your own wretchedness? You're consorting with witches! You're still talking about imps like they're superior creatures!" _

"_Leave him alone!" Eliza shrieked. "He's not mad at all! There _is _an imp who tortures him! He uses his body for evil experiments! He's been doing it since Roderich was a kid! Your nephew is traumatized! Don't yell at him!" _

"_No, Eliza! I _am _mad! There is no imp! Stop arguing! Stupid, despicable woman, stop arguing!" _

_Eliza froze. Roderich's heart felt faint. His nails were digging hard into her wrist. He saw her ghostly expression before the cane came hard and fast on her shoulder. He felt the blow above his left eye. _

_And when he came to, she was gone._

* * *

Eliza's hair bounced on her back as it collected the falling snow. Her shoulders were hunched tight, and her boots crunched heavy in the drifts. The noonday sun was concealed by a thick gray blanket of cloud cover, and no light fell upon the once-silky chestnut waves.

He reached up to feel the indent on his forehead, just under longer, wavier hair combed to the far left in order to conceal it.

"You embarrassed me," Eliza said from up ahead. Her voice was warmer, but held none of that former radical sympathy. "I never… I never told you how many places I'd tried to live before I found Edelweiss. My mother was a witch too, but she died when I was young, and she never gave me enough guidance. Only inspiration. I know I have other skills I could use, but my earliest memories are of magic, and I can't steer myself away from it. Maybe some people will accept wizards in this day and age, but not witches. I thought you were fine with that. But I suppose not. You never liked magic, did you."

Roderich strode up beside. "What has this to do with magic?"

"You're blind to it. You'd really rather see yourself as _mad _than accept a creature of darkness _tortures _you. I wanted to help you. I saw that you were hurting, and I wanted to help you, but you didn't trust me."

"I did trust you. You're the one who didn't believe me."

"Should I believe a madman?"

Roderich growled. "It's not like that! I'm not mad! I _know _what he does to me. I have the scars all over my body to prove it. But some people will never believe those scars aren't my own doing, and to those people, I _am _mad!"

"You are so petty. Do you _like it _when that imp comes? Do you _like _feeling like a piece of dirt with no one to help him? Do you _like _getting whacked in the head?"

"My strength lies in endurance."

"Fine. Then it's courage you lack."

"Quit judging me so quickly! It's more complex than you think it is! I… I endure because fighting back is useless. I can never defeat him. I can try all I like to be as ruthless as I'm destined to be, but I will never, _ever _have the strength to call myself 'ruthless' against him, and so my strength lies in not giving my enemy satisfaction. I will not show my pain, and—"

"How could you have all this pride, yet such little sense of self-worth? You don't have to be 'ruthless' to stand up for yourself. You don't even have to be strong physically. You just have to see reality and know when you're clearly not okay. But you're an ostrich with sand stinging your eyes. You suffer, and you accept it, and you push help away because standing alone in the middle of a lightning storm is what makes you feel strong. You won't do _squat_ for yourself, and you keep suffering just so you have more reason to think you're okay being alone. That you're _stronger _alone."

"I invited you into my home to help me."

She huffed. "Do you want to know what 'ruthless' is, Roddy? It's not caring about others, even when they care about you. I like to think I'm a compassionate woman. I might as well have saved your life that night after you were attacked. And how did you thank me? By disowning me. Insulting me because having someone fight for you didn't fit your _Poor, Mad Roddy _narrative. You asked me to help, but you were never once _grateful._"

"I… don't know how to show that. What can I do to show you?"

She just shook her head. "I think part of you did turn to stone in that castle. Your _heart._"

"Eliza!"

Eliza continued on silently through the snow. Her boots crunched over a fresh crust of powder that sounded much too humorous for the current environment. Roderich trailed behind, raking the flakes out of his hair and ignoring the icy bite on the tip of his nose. Was he stone-hearted? Did he not care whether she helped or not? Did he _want _to feel the pain only to revel in it? Enduring for a false sense of strength?

Was this ruthless?

Was this _okay? _

He was cold…

They reached Edelweiss. The snow-buried gardens looked like half-dug graves for the skeletons of flowers, and the dark windows brought no reassurance to the somber mood of the gray-and-whitewashed yard. A wind chime tinkled faintly with the wind.

Eliza pulled her wand out of her boot and wiggled it around herself, chanting. The snow kicked up around her, swirling unto the folds of an illusion that wrapped itself over her skin. She grew taller. Thicker. Puffier. The frayed lapels of her coat stitched up, and her hair wrapped itself down into a balding halo. The satchel seized up, then shimmered as it became a briefcase.

"There. Do I look like a doctor?"

"Looks great. Let's go see Otto. Er… you can stay for tea afterwards, if you'd like. We haven't had many visitors."

"That's better of you, but I'll wait to see how things pan out with your aunt."

The mansion was deadly silent. Roderich stepped in first, stomping his boots dry before removing them and slipping on his leather loafers. He gestured for his guest to follow him upstairs to Otto's room in the corner.

Within lurked Ilse and Darleen, staring wide-eyed at Otto, who was sleeping fitfully in bed with his legs beneath a single sheet. He was shirtless, showing how dramatically the rash had worsened. Bits of his skin were white as paper, while others remained a harsh, burning pink. His cheeks were still steaming from the trails of tears. He shuddered, then whimpered. A sinister bubbling echoed from the pit of his stomach.

"He threw up so much," Darleen whispered. "He sat in the cold bath crying for five minutes before spewing everywhere. There was so much… I couldn't believe he contained all of it in the first place. What could've caused this infection?"

"Is that a physician?" Ilse cut her off. "Tend to that little boy immediately! Do you know who he is? He's the Duke of Liutberht! The last of his line! His parents were killed by some freakish curse, and he doesn't need to go the same way!"

Eliza scrambled to the bedside, gently placing her disguised hand on Otto's forehead and assessing the rash from all angles.

"Will you wake up?" She whispered in the boy's ear. "Just once, and then you can sleep. Open your eyes."

Otto coughed, then complied. His eyes were all bloodshot. His chest rose and fell erratically. He huffed in lungfuls of the room's stale air just to keep himself cool, then turned over on his side to reveal rivers of sweat pouring down his back.

"Will he keep anything down?"

"Nothing," said the maid. "We tried plain water. It all comes back up."

"All three of you go get more wet cloths to lay on him. Tepid, not cold. Roderich, make sure yours is clean. We can make him drink drop by drop if we have to. He needs fluids." She held Otto's hand tight. "Can you hear my voice? Otto, sweetheart, can you see me? You'll be okay. Just stay awake. You need to drink."

"'m… hungry," he croaked.

"You need water first. Do you want to try some of this? It's Queen's Honey. It's good for your stomach. It might help you keep things down."

"Dwasn-sbosda-belike-dis… I wanned… Ijzwanned a p-pritty mom… anda… 'e doezit… in… infrunname. T-tellmdastop. 'm _scared."_

Eliza only understood the last word. "Shhh, don't be afraid. Save your strength. Here. Taste some of this and try to swallow."

She fed Otto a teaspoon of honey while his eyes strained to produce any semblance of tears. He started to cough, but she gently kneaded his belly until he belched and his breathing steadied.

Roderich arrived with the clean cloth. Eliza repeated with the honey, then let Otto suck on the end. His little body shook, but he eagerly took in the liquid. Eliza then took out a little pink bottle from a pocket. It was completely empty, save for one drop flowing on the bottom.

"One drop left," she whispered.

"What is that?" Ilse spat as she squeezed out her cloth on Otto's forehead.

"Medicine," Eliza replied. She poured the final drop onto the other corner of Otto's cloth and made him suck. It was barely enough to make the fabric any wetter, but his face lit up when he tasted it.

"Is that good?"

Otto coughed, then nodded.

"Good, good. Roderich, get him a real glass of water, and broth for substance. Keep up with the tepid cloths. Don't get him too wet. We want him cool, but not shivering.

Shaking, Roderich brought back the requests. Otto spat up some, but after a little wait, he managed to drink a glass of water and a few bowls of broth. Eliza kept telling him to slow his pace so he wouldn't cough it all up again. When he was finished, he readily accepted one more helping before drifting to sleep. Eliza pulled the sheet up to his chin.

"He should stay under strict supervision for the next few days," she said. "Keep him cool and hydrated. Boil some lavender or rosemary to help him breathe. If you've got any edelweiss, feed him bits for his stomach.

"Will you be staying?" Ilse asked.

Eliza looked to Roderich, who cleared his face of a scowl. She then turned to the maid. "I would like some warm tea. Then you all may disperse to clear your heads. I will sit in here with the little one."

The tea was brought, and the adults left, leaving Eliza with a lingering Roderich. He stood idly in the doorframe, watching her watch Otto.

"You gave him rosewater?"

"All I had left of it. It should do him some good."

"You don't have any more."

"Did you want some?"

He came in and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms and staring at the floor. "I'm sorry you got mixed up with me."

She was silent.

"Perhaps it's a given I would lose your trust. My heart accepts that too quickly. It's not easy to trust someone like me, especially when I have little trust to put in others."

Eliza waved her wand, and the illusion fell off like a sheet.

"You wore this… this _mask _all the time," she said. "You told me what was wrong but brushed over it. You didn't think I would believe you, and it's my own fault that I didn't until the end, but you were still never genuine about anything. _'You're not supposed to see me like this.'_ That's what you told me when I found you lying in a puddle of your own feathery vomit."

Roderich nodded, a sick feeling balling up in his stomach at the memory. "Maybe I'm everything _but _mad. Always on the verge, just telling myself I'm normal. Am I strong? I don't know. I don't know what real strength is. I've been trying to figure it out my whole life."

"You accepted my hug that night, and you returned it. I'd say that was strong of you. You don't like being touched."

"Because touching me is like coddling me. Treating me like a _child."_

"But you _wanted _it. I know you wanted it. You squeezed me so hard. That was the one genuine thing you did. You like to revel in your weaknesses, but really you're just afraid of them. Everyone is weak in some way, and a weakness against _black magic _is excusable in every context I can think of. You _will _find a way to love yourself, and it starts with understanding your weaknesses and not letting them control your life."

Roderich stared blankly at the opposite wall. His jaw was tense. He raised his right hand — the cursed one — and traced the very faint blue squiggle trailing down his nose and lips to the scar. Its origin was trivial, but its meaning was profound… and infuriating.

"I'm not afraid of my weaknesses. I hate them."

"Don't hate them."

"And accept them? Accept them when… when my own father hated them, and my aunt hates them, and everyone I've ever known has rejected me because of them?"

Eliza's eyes grew wide. She sprang out of the chair, taking hold of spidery hands and squeezing tight.

"You know me. Have I rejected you?"

"You're only here because of Otto."

She leaned in close, puckering her brows and scowling.

"Maybe so, but I'm still your _friend, _and I care about you, and I'm very worried about you. It's not condescension. I'm hurt by what you did, but if you can see the fault in it at all... you're an ass, but not heartless. I'm sorry. Maybe I was harsh. Can you just _try_ to listen? That frightened person inside you is just as important as the ambitious one. I won't tell you who to be. Just don't hide. Don't make me find you again. If I don't, someone else will. Someone who you _don't_ trust."

His lips twitched up at her turnaround. He squeezed her hands back. The pressure in his gut released, replaced by a warm tightness in his chest, burning like a fever. His heart was racing, and for a moment, the beaky mask slipped.

"I'll listen."

"You'd better start listening, and you'd better find some way to show you care, _really _care. And dammit, Roderich, if your aunt hits you like that again, tell me, and I'll curse her on the next full moon."

"Who's to say I won't curse her myself?"

"Will you?"

He idled on this question, keeping her close and letting the heat build within him, until Ilse's footsteps echoed in the hall. Eliza scrambled to flick the illusion back over herself and replace the tepid cloth on Otto's forehead. His rash was fading rapidly, and his breathing was easy. He was going to be fine. All could take a breath of relief.

The "physician" stayed a few more hours until it was clear Otto was stabilizing as he should. Then Ilse shoved "him" out the door with a meager tip. Roderich took his unfinished paperwork, and after an early supper, retired to his father's study. The cushy chair behind the desk was too big for him.

He wrote out date after date and signed line after line until the sky grew dark and a snowstorm whipped up. Roderich shivered. The fireplace was warm, but it couldn't illuminate the forms. Yawning, he went to the cabinet where he'd found those dusty yellow candles the previous night. Convenient his father had left so many. The current box had been expended, so he pulled a new one from the back of the shelf and brought it forward. Laying across the fresh-ish row of candles inside was a curious slip of paper.

_**Projekt Tarzenia  
**__**Solid Prototype #2  
**__**Code Name: "Sun"  
**__**Batch 4**_

It was in Ulrich's handwriting. Roderich wrinkled his beak in a wry smile.

"My father tried selling homemade candles at one point? I guess even a man as ruthless as him had secrets. Mm, these ones smell like lemons."

Whether Roderich chased ruthless, or ruthless chased Roderich, for one night, he would lay the matter aside.

No one was around to judge him.

* * *

**~N~**

"**Sick Fic." "Song Fic." Check and check. More melodrama… Rod's beating around the bush. But with a friend to help, maybe he won't let himself brood so much. For now, he'll relax with some nice lemon candles his father made… **

**The song that inspired this is just so, so perfect for Roddy and his relationships in whatever AU. He's idle, bitter, and schnozzy to a fault, waiting for others to do things for him without realizing his pride puts people off, and his isolation is partially his own fault. I just love Black Gryph0n. His music has defined the year so far for me. Themes of courage and persistence. **

**Waiting for new Snarled Circle episodes while I strain my brain writing them? I have a new, humorous series, "Prussia Meows," that delves into nation lore and the secret to Prussia's immortality! Will update frequently throughout the summer! **

**Next episode: TBD**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net May 23rd, 2020. Reposters will be cUrSeD. Reviewers get bananas! **


	18. 2:10 Ludwig and the Flying Chair

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**18\. Ludwig and the Flying Chair**

**Ludwig hatches a plan to get Gilbert out of the tower and into some fun. **

* * *

It was late afternoon one summer's day, and deep within the patch of enchanted forest up on the western promontory of the Rhein, a boy called Ludwig was struggling to detach a door from his family bathhouse.

It was the back door — an old, rotted, lichen-licked board of wooden planks nailed together and jammed into place by a rusted hinge. Fringes of moss crept out of the cracks between the planks, and a few mushrooms grew in layered scales along the bottom. Ludwig yanked it back, then grunted when the momentum tossed him back into dew-moistened earth. He brushed himself off and tried again. The rusted hinge was so close to breaking! He could hear it creak a little more each time he put his weight into pulling on the door.

Wiping muddy hands off on his trousers, he slipped his fingers into the hole where a knob used to be and pulled back until his shoulders popped. The door swung out until it was parallel with his body, and he wiggled a bit, enjoying the fun of weightlessness.

The scents of all the mysterious soaps and potions wafted out into the humid heat. Ludwig's fairy-wizard of a brother had mixed up plenty of magical solutions to make bathtime fun. Cherry-scented rainbow bubbles that softened the skin. A shampoo of sparkling apple blossom that left hair shiny for days. And of course, the pumpkin gel that "eased the old joints." Ludwig wasn't allowed to use the gel, but sometimes he sneaked some to rub on his hands because it smelled so delicious.

A _creak-crick-crack _filled the air, and Ludwig shrieked when the door he was hanging from burst from its hinges and slammed hard on the ground next to where he fell. Dust and dirt flew everywhere. Strings of moss and cobwebs floated down from their disturbed corners to tarry on the earth. The spiders scuttled away, harrumphing.

With a grand smile, Ludwig hauled himself up again. He seized the door by its top edge and put all his strength into dragging it back toward the leaning stone tower of home. The cumbersome thing skidded over gravel and lagged on the grass. The seat of Ludwig's trousers was completely stained from all the falls on his rump he had suffered. But still, he continued, tromping under the sagging sky in the heat of a molten sun. Blond bangs were all plastered to his forehead by the time he reached the front step, and only then did he drop the door and scamper on inside.

Now, Ludwig was a modest child, a mature child, and he was not one to shout. So when his brother was nowhere to be found on the first floor, he earnestly tromped up the spiral staircase to the second, and then to the third. The third floor was Ludwig's room, and there he found his big brother Gilbert attaching a pair of newly-sewn emerald curtains to the rod above the western window.

"Are you done playing outside?" Gilbert asked as he turned. His ears, long and knifelike, were already furiously burnt for the summer, and when they twitched, his eyes crinkled in a wince.

"Em, would you play with me for a while?"

"Out there all day, and you want to play _more? _How do you not exhaust yourself? If we had more money, I'd pay for you to have two breakfasts."

They never had much money, for Gilbert was a changeling who was loathe to disguise his ugly features, and he rarely put himself in the service of humans for any bearable amount of time. It was on day-old bread and stolen bacon and homegrown potatoes that they lived, and because it was all Ludwig had ever known, being raised by the cheap changeling, he was happy with it.

"Did you weed the garden and cut asparagus like I asked?"

"Yup," Ludwig replied, playing with his hands. "I also organized your books downstairs and swept out the bathhouse."

"You didn't eat anything in the bathhouse, did you? Not everything in there is edible. The last thing we need is you drinking more potions and growing extra appendages."

"It was one time!"

Gilbert glared with eyes the color of human blood, and Ludwig hung his head.

"No, I didn't eat or drink anything. All I did was sweep and dust, then I spent the rest of the day playing. I think I saw a pixie! It was really small, and it had wings, and it was _glowing!" _

"Nonsense, Luddy. We live too far north to see pixies. It was probably a bonflier. There's a hatch going on."

"Well… I saw a troll."

"Wormlocks can eat my ears if you saw a troll in this forest."

Ludwig wrinkled his nose. Before him stood a creature with a great, beaky nose and teeth like needles and a body so bony the skin was like a canvas stretched over a wooden frame. And he didn't believe there were _trolls _in this forest. What a vain people, the fae!

"Maybe it was some kind of hobgoblin."

"Most likely," said Gilbert as he finished with the curtains. "There. Your room has some color now. Not just gray stone. I can use the fabric scraps to start a new quilt for you, too.

"Can you make me my own wizard robe?"

"You're not old enough to be a _wizard," _Gilbert tutted. "If I can't trust you not to drink potions, I can't trust you with a wand."

"But I'm growing! I'll get my magic powers soon, right? Then I can be a wizard like you! So I should have my own robe."

Gilbert's ears drooped, and he hid an awful wince from the boy, for Ludwig didn't know that humans were without magic from birth.

"Well, I don't have any wool to line a wizard robe with. You'd be a very cold wizard."

"It's not cold outside. Come on, I need you to help me with something. Please?"

Gilbert fussed with the curtains for a little while more before following Ludwig down the spiral staircase and out to the front step. There the changeling gasped when he saw the door all rotting and idle before him.

"Where did you get that!?"

"From the bathhouse," Ludwig squeaked. "It was going to fall off, anyway. It's the back door. I can build a new one. Hans in town can show me."

Gilbert was not angry. Instead, he knelt next to the door and twitched his great ears in a curious fashion. Then he took his claw of a thumbnail and scraped a bit of wet bark off the fibrous surface of the door.

Just beneath was a mass of tannish worms, all tangled together and squirming over and under one another like a slimy, pulsing knot of flesh. They were fat as fingers and ranging from as short as a pinky to as long as a garter snake.

"Wormlocks!" Gilbert screeched. "Lud, you said this is from the bathhouse!?"

"Yeah. I took it from the back."

Gilbert finally noticed just how filthy Ludwig was from rolling around in the mud. He bolted around the tower and back toward the bathhouse, and when he arrived, Ludwig heard an enormous cry that sent small whirlwinds into motion around the trees. The boy darted back to the scene of the cry, and there he found his brother absolutely heartbroken.

"Woah," Ludwig said. "Those weren't all there earlier."

Slithering and squelching out of every little crack and cranny were more wormlocks. They ate away at surfaces with invisible mouths and wriggled right through wood, stone, and glass as easily as a finger through a stick of butter. Gilbert took a twig and entered the bathhouse cautiously, but he squealed and ran back out when he saw the tub itself was a wiggly nightmare of worm soup.

"Euh, so gross," Gilbert whined. "Wormlocks feed on rot and dirt. Careful! Don't let them touch you! They'll eat right through your muddy flesh!"

Ludwig squealed and swatted away three wormlocks that had wriggled up his arm. "What do we do!? They're eating the whole bathhouse!"

"Go grab the bottled geysers. All of them."

"But those are—"

He was cut off by Gilbert's scream. The changeling charged into the worm-eaten shed and burst out the other side with his precious globe of pumpkin gel.

Ludwig bolted back toward the tower. He found what he needed on the potion shelves next to the sitting area — a rack of flasks each filled with a churning body of water that made it hot to the touch. He strained his skinny arms lifting the rack and set off trundling back out toward Gilbert and his pumpkin spice insanity. By the time he reached the scene of upset again, five whole bottles of bubble bath had been rescued.

"I have the geysers!"

"Good!"

Gilbert seized two of them from the rack, then gnawed off the corks with his teeth and let two steaming white jets of water burst forth from the bottlenecks. His frail body was forced backwards, and he screamed when he landed on his bony bottom. But his aim was true, and the miniature geysers squirted right into the squirming mass of wormlocks steadily chewing through the floor.

Ludwig grabbed another bottle. It burned his hands, but he worked to bite off the cork in the same fashion and yelped when a spray of steam got him right in the face. The bottle exploded in his hands, soaking both him and Gilbert with the boiling contents. The rest of it spilled into the bathhouse, where the wormlocks were either boiled away or forced out into the forest again.

A few more mishaps, and the clean hot water liberated the bathhouse. In the end, it was a rather pointless endeavor. The place had no roof now, and the beams holding up the walls were chewed through so drastically, they resembled soggy lumps of cheese. The rug was full of holes, and the cabinets were leaking various magical liquids that sparked and exploded when they mixed.

Shaking, sopping hands wrapped around Gilbert's bony chest, and he took in the sight of a child so fraught with emotion, he couldn't tell whether Ludwig was frightened or excited about the whole thing. The changeling heaved a great sigh.

"Get me one of those chewy tablets for broken bones."

* * *

After Gilbert's bottom was put back in order, and the burns all healed with Gilbert's special formula, they took the pain of trundling down the cliffside to bathe in the river. There, a host of wormlocks splorted and squelched freely in the muck. All fluffed and dry as they could be, the boy and his fairy trundled up the cliffside again and were soon seated at dinner, where a disgruntled Gilbert mowed down potatoes like the most famished of dark creatures.

"I'm sorry," Ludwig whimpered.

Gilbert just shook his head and grinned like he'd been given a gift. Red eyes were sparkling.

"It's not your fault. I'm the one who said wormlocks could eat my ears. That must have given them permission to burrow up here and eat the bathhouse. Oh, that place was falling apart, anyway. We can use the old wood to build a farm shed and a chicken coop, just like Adela was suggesting. And then we can build a _new _bathhouse! Why, it will take us all summer! A wonderful project for the two of us."

Ludwig groaned. "I don't _want _to build a new bathhouse. I want to do _wizard _stuff."

"It _is _wizard stuff! Don't you want your own familiar? It could be a chicken! Lud, we need a good protein source. All this bacon and beef just sits in my gut and makes me nauseated. With chickens, you get eggs and cute fluffy wings to pet!"

Ludwig seemed to melt at this statement. He slouched in his chair and quietly munched his potato. "I wanted to make the door into a flying sled."

"Hm?"

"A flying sled. I was going to ask if you could make the birds carry me around on the door. You could lead them in your eagle form."

"In my eagle form, eh?" Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "And what kind of dangerous scheme is this?"

"You never want to do anything fun. All you do is sit in the tower sewing curtains. I used to help you get ready for cursing raids, but ever since your mackerel dreams, you don't let yourself leave the tower. Can't we have magical adventures anymore?"

"Why, I... " Gilbert was stumped by this proposition. "I really haven't gotten out lately. I've been too stressed to go out, so I busy myself with things at home. I suppose you're right, my pancake-ears."

"Teach me about magical things! Like the wormlocks! And the bonfliers! We could find more of them! Please? Flying sled!"

"If you want to make a flying sled, we're not using that old worm-eaten door. What about a flying… chair? You could strap yourself in with some twine and belts."

"That works! Yeah!"

Gilbert's ears folded down in annoyance, but the boy was completely serious. It was a confusing thing, sometimes. Changelings grew up much too quickly. By Ludwig's age, Gilbert was a mature adult with a slew of burdens weighing on his mind. He was a changeling in a world that saw changelings as monsters, and he'd nearly been executed for it. That was a hard, hard thing to swallow.

It was a world full of darkness and light, spinning and churning like a knot of poison in the blood, spiting the man who ever saw insanity as unnatural. But Ludwig, dear Ludwig, knew nothing of insanity at all. He denounced the world's insanity as effortlessly as a swallow taking wing. Ludwig was keeper of the _virtuous apathy — _the power to remain calm in a storm, swaying in neither direction, but pushing dearly on his way. He did not care to see Gilbert as a monster. He did not care to spite his own kind for thinking so. He did not care to think about the matter entirely. All he wanted on a typical summer afternoon was a flying chair.

It was… _inspiring _to Gilbert. His whole life, he had known nothing but sides taken and sides excluded. Ludwig did not brood indoors. He did not keep himself away from his stressors. The boy _had _no stressors to speak of. No mackerel on his tongue. No iron in his heart. Any meaner spirit would seek to _crush _one so seemingly vain and optimistic. Of course he would feel nothing. Of course he would be fiendishly happy in a time of trial, wanting a _flying chair _when his kind were ruthlessly stolen day by day, when he himself had been stolen.

Gilbert _knew _that feeling — the feeling that he was judged unfairly for his feelings. The feeling that he really was a monster because at one time, he didn't feel like one. Because he couldn't feel what he did wrong. Because he felt the wrong things at the wrong times, and he felt for all the wrong reasons. Because he felt strongly against those who felt strongly against him, and then curled up into himself and felt that perhaps they were right.

Feeling wasn't everything. Feeling was abstract, and a feeling in the head was not like a feeling in the earth — truer than clouded ambition and animate spite.

Hatred was rare, Fritz had said. Cruel apathy was manifest. Hurting changelings without a care for their feelings. And virtuous apathy, not caring either way, made Gilbert want to cry out of joy.

It was possible… It was _acceptable_… to want a flying chair.

"What are you thinking about?" Ludwig asked.

"Ach, just that I wish you would stay small and cute forever," Gilbert replied. "Are we making this flying machine, or what?"

Blue eyes that once seemed shallow were now as deep as the river and bright as the stars.

* * *

It was the sturdiest chair in Piyo Tower — the one from behind Gilbert's desk on the second floor. They took it outside and removed the all slippery varnish with sandpaper. Then Gilbert cut up an old pair of leather shoes and sewed a few straps around the top bar and arms for mighty talons and human hands to grip. Ludwig helped lift the chair so it could be enchanta-glued onto a stiff square board from the wood pile. Long ropes were attached to this as extra holds for the wings. A log was glued just under the chair as a footrest, and a lap bar was made out of a pair of rolling pins.

"This is a ridiculous idea. Are you sure this is safe?"

"I don't know. You're the grown-up here," Ludwig replied.

"Well, we won't fly over the river. How about that. Okay, strap in."

Ludwig bounced up and down in his seat as Gilbert belted up his chest and legs. He made sure the boy wouldn't wiggle around in flight, and tested the chair's sturdiness with a few gusts of wind whipped up by yelling. Then, still with a suspicious frown, he waved his arms skyward and called out for birds.

"I need your help, friends! Eagle-owls—"

"Not owls, Gilbert!"

"Owls can see in the dark, Lud. Eagle-owls, strongest birds of the night! Come serve your master!"

Gilbert was blessed with power over birds, and a host of owls came silently whiffling out of the trees, circling and hooting above Gilbert's outstretched hands before landing in a circle where he pointed. Their huge, unblinking eyes and fluid movements unnerved little Lud, and he shrank into his seat. Gilbert directed the biggest of them to perch on the back frame of the chair. It gripped its talons around the leather strap, and fluffing itself, swiveled its head down to smile at its passenger. Ludwig reached out a cautious hand and pet the feathers, which were puffy as pillows and soft as sand.

Each owl was given a place to grip, whether a leather patch on the chair itself or a place on the ropes tied onto the baseboard. Gilbert directed each one to the perfect spot, and the more he spoke to them, the more their hooting, hissing wildness nulled down and dissipated. By his strange changeling magic, they transformed from feral raptors into feathery gentlemen, who smiled and bowed at Ludwig like coachmen.

"All right. That should be enough eagle-owls. Now, what kind of brother would I be if I weren't watching you? Might as well have wings myself!"

Ludwig looked on, nervous, but fascinated. Gilbert's nose was already stretching into a silver hook, and inky feathers were sprouting in patches all over his pale skin. He pulled off his shirt just in time before his arms strained and crackled as they stretched. The flesh of his hands crawled up over the fingers, fusing them together with tiny _cricks, _and the thumbs bent backwards into vestigial nubs.

"What does it feel like to transform?"

"It's like when you feel your stomach churning, only _everything_ is churning and shifting around under your skin. It all gets tingly and warm and itchy, but it feels really good," Gilbert squeaked out. His voice went from a rasp to a shriek, and as the feathers crawled up his face, his nose deformed even further, pulling his skull out in an oblong fashion and fully forming the wicked silver-gold beak.

This "churning" was audible. A series of gurgles and squelches and wet crunches filled the air as Gilbert's frail body puffed up into the muscular build of a raptor. His paper chest swelled in his face before his neck snaked upward. His sunken stomach blew up to merge with his feathered breast. His shoulders bent back and sank into the rounding body, which deflated a bit as Gilbert started to shrink. Feet grew dry and shriveled before breaking out in scales. Toenails sharpened into talons. A pointed tail pushed and stretched the skin of his lower back before it was consumed by a handsome fan of feathers.

Gilbert's grand black wings stretched out at his sides, and when he was finished with all the bubbling strangeness of transformation, he was an eagle with eyes like rubies. Ludwig looked on in awe. Changeling magic at its finest — the power to transform into anything!

The black eagle hopped backwards so he could take the very front rope in his talons. Then he screeched an order, and every pair of wings began to flap. The wind whipped back Ludwig's hair and tugged at his clothes. The eagle-owls strained to lift him up, all hooting and huffing, but their light, hollow-boned bodies were no match for the solid-boned human.

Gilbert grumble-squeaked something from his position at the front, then shrieked one long note that brought a wave of air rushing over the flying machine. Instantly, it lifted off the ground, and the eagle-owls found the motivation they needed to use their full power on keeping it airborne.

Up flew the flying chair above the trees. It spiraled around the stone majesty of Piyo Tower before rising above it entirely and speeding off toward the west. Ludwig gripped the arms and pressed down on the footrest. The tiny scraps of wood below were hardly visible now.

The higher he rose, the more the world started to curve and round out, as if he were floating above an enormous bubble of wood and water. This must be the forest in its completeness! Not individual tree trunks, but shaggy green patches of woodland like hedges of moss upon the earth. To the east, he saw the grand river plodding on toward the north. Back behind him, he saw the mountains of the south far in the distance.

Gilbert swung his head back as if to check on things. Ludwig gave a great smile. It was the most fun he'd had in a long time, much more fun than chasing after trolls Gilbert didn't believe in and preparing for a cursing raid he wouldn't get to tag along for.

"Go higher!" He called over the roar of the wind.

Gilbert pointed his beak to the sky and chirped. The flapping intensified, and the flying chair rocketed upwards, soaring toward the wisps of evening clouds, dyed purple and gold from the light of the setting sun. Up in the sky, the puffy behemoths thinned and broadened into a great field of mist that soaked Lud's clothes with sparkling dew and left him laughing. He sucked on cold fingers while taking in the eerie sight of clouds floating below him. This was like a secret dimension no human eyes had seen before! Sometimes he felt odd about having a fairy for a caretaker, but a magical adventure like this was enough to outweigh any strangeness. Ludwig himself was a part of the strangeness.

"I'm cold now! Go down! Fly over the village!"

Another chirp brought the chair whipping down in a shaky arc. Clearly Gilbert's wind magic and the eagle-owls were ill-suited for one another. A few feathered friends were thrown from their perches and had to strain their wings to catch up to the flying chair. Feathery horns folded down in exasperation.

Ludwig received another splash as he raced through the clouds once more. The sun was nearly set, and stars were peeping out on the deep blue fabric of emerging night. The eagle-owls were more at peace, now. They stretched their wings and glided silently on, following every twitch of Gilbert's tail feathers and listening to his every chirp.

Ludwig spread his arms out and felt cool air rushing over his skin. He closed his eyes and imagined there was no chair beneath him, but only the summer wind. He was a bird himself, swooping down upon the woodland with his wings wide and his talons curled and ready. What magic there was in imagination, and what magic there was in reality!

The flying chair circled the village in the valley nearest Piyo Fortress. Ludwig made out the fountain, now a teeny shimmering ring, and from there he traced stems of streets to find Adela's bakeshop and the house of his good friend Thomas. He waved to the few little floating heads of people he saw before Gilbert twitched his tail and the flying chair veered out of the view.

Over hill, over dale, went the human boy and his host of feathered friends. Ludwig sat like a prince as he zoomed over the treetops. Gilbert brought him all the way to the city of Fulchen before swinging around and soaring back along the river Rhein. Ludwig saw the Wormlock Tower, where the wicked prince was chewed through by the magic grubs; and he saw the statue of the woman holding up her lantern, looking for the Toadmuffins of the valley; and he even made out the crumbling castle said to be the home of a dark wizard from long ago, who was really not a wizard at all, but a plowboy who had gained success through luck alone.

Ludwig grew sleepy as the darkness crept on. The eagle-owls hooted to tell Gilbert of this, and he gave a raptor's tender smile back at the boy, who rested his head on one shoulder and lazily eyed the world rushing below him as if enchanted by a dream.

Then came the lights.

All along the river bank, thousands of muddy spheres exploded, and from each rose a tiny and delicate being — beetle-like, but with a stout black body and a tail like a shining bulb of gas. Some blinked blue, others purple, and still others green and red and yellow and dearest pink. Millions of the creatures burst from the muck and floated weightlessly up into the night. Their wings set off sparks as they flew.

A glimmer caught Ludwig's sleepy eyes, and he gasped at the rainbow of tiny starlike beings zipping and zooming all around through the air above him. He reached his hand out, and three of them lit on his hand, blinking orange and purple and blue. They did not bite him, but only tickled his skin before soaring off on sparking wings.

The flying chair returned to earth with a jolt. The footrest busted off, and the ropes were chafed to mere strings. Ludwig thanked the eagle-owls for their help, and Gilbert's screech told them where they could find a great feast of rats deep in the woods to the south. They lifted their wings and rose, relieved, with only their own bodies to carry.

Ludwig unbuckled himself and jumped out of the chair. He squeezed the black eagle around the middle and cuddled him to his chest, burying his nose in the warm, glossy feathers.

"You're the best brother _ever." _

The eagle's weight increased, and Ludwig was surprised to feel him growing and swelling in his arms. He set him down so he could fully reshape into a changeling. Gilbert stretched pale arms to the sky and yawned before retrieving his trousers.

"Did you like that, kid?"

Ludwig tackled him with a hug from behind. "Can we do it again tomorrow night?"

"We won't be doing that again until we have a chicken coop and I'm eating eggs morning, noon, and night. You may be having fun, but flapping my wings and bending the wind around us is no light workout!" Gilbert professed. He put a hand on his stomach and grimaced when it gurgled. "But hey, creative idea, my chirpy chick. You could make a fine wizard someday."

Ludwig just giggled and scampered on toward the tower. But he stopped when he saw the glittering rainbow swirling and swarming the bathhouse. He cupped his hands, and a few tiny creatures floated down to kiss his skin.

"Look, Gilbert! This is what I saw earlier!"

"Yep, those are bonfliers. Heh. Wormlocks must be their larvae! A boring, pesky worm into a rainbow beetle."

"They're so pretty! Look at all of them!"

Gilbert looked, and his fangs poked past his lips in a warm smile. He ran his spindly fingers through Ludwig's hair and gave him a few nice pats.

"I suppose they're safe enough now. You can stay up to watch them, but not too late."

"Watch them with me!"

"I need to eat something. How about I brew us up some chocolate elixirs?"

"Perfect!"

And so Ludwig dragged the door back to the bathhouse, Gilbert took a seat in the flying chair, and until the morning, neither cared much about the massive pain of renovation that was to come.

* * *

**~N~**

**I STRONGLY recommend reading my old story "Midsummer Moon Brew" as a direct follow-up to this one! More cuteness there! **

**Lol, Gilbert is basically an airbender who screams to use his power. And more dream creatures. The bonfliers I just made up, but wormlocks have appeared many times in my dreams. They feed on rot and dirt, but they're attracted to magic, so you'll often find them in abandoned homes of wizards. **

**Next episode: A house too big, a bed too hard, a tutor too harsh, and a meal too bland. What's a musical little fairy to do?**

**Published by Syntax-N on Fanfiction . Net June 7th, 2020. Reposters get the toilet ghost. **


	19. 2:11 The Little Fairy Felice

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**19\. The Little Fairy Felice  
**_**Chibifata Part One**_

**The late Gigi's son comes to Edelweiss in hopes of learning music. He is met with a bed too hard, a meal too bland, and a tutor too harsh. **

* * *

It was stifling summer when the little fairy came to Edelweiss.

He climbed down from the coach clutching a sore stomach and whimpering. Human coaches did not have compartments to fold wings down into, so he was forced to sit sideways in his seat and balance for miles and miles up and down the rocky, hilly terrain. He was barely able to wrench his luggage out from the back before the coach speeded away. It was like a rolling giant. The horses were behemoths compared to Allegrian ponies, and the driver had been wider than any man he'd ever seen.

The mansion now before him had that same quality — enormous_. _He supposed it couldn't have been bigger than the villa at home, but it was so new to him, and it loomed above his little head like a gloomy castle despite the sunshine.

He dragged his luggage along until he reached the front door. There he stood with wiggling, twiggy arms and a quivering frown on his face that tightened into a line when the door was opened. A portly human maid invited him over the threshold. He nodded to her and heaved his luggage into the house. It bunched up the rug and scraped the hardwood before she took it from him.

The inside of the mansion smelled terribly odd. It had a stale, musty odor clouded over with various smokes and sickly sweet perfumes. The little fairy wrinkled his button nose and shimmied his wings. This was such a _quiet _place! Back at home, he always heard voices from the various family members and vineyard workers. Granted, there was much less singing now that his grandfather was gone, but this place was _silent. _

It was so silent that he jumped at the sound of a heavy door opening and beheld the sight of two figures striding forth from the hallway hidden behind the staircase. The first was a severe-looking ostrich of a man with a beak for a nose and fingers too long for his palms. His eyes were dark beneath his spectacles, and his puckered brows betrayed obvious annoyance. The smaller figure was a human boy around the fairy's age, looking quite nervous and disheveled, but certainly with an air of hidden strength given away by his posture and his judging blue gaze.

Both figures grimaced, then shifted equally far to the disgusted and the smug, respectively. The little fairy tried to straighten his back, but he was holding onto the heavy luggage in nervousness again, and only his glittering tannish-gold wings popped up to flitter behind him.

"My name is Feliciano Vargas Roma, but please call me Felice," he spoke slowly in his squeaky voice. "I'm supposed to find someone here who can teach me music. Someone who knew my papà? Gianfranco Roma?"

He had to stop speaking under the towering human's glare. The mouth under the beak opened like a hinge, and he spoke with a honking whine of a voice.

"I am Roderich Edelstein, master of this household, and this is my cousin, the Duke of Liutberht."

"It's Otto," said the other boy with something of a smirk. "Charmed."

"Eh, you're very fancy," said Feliciano. "Where can I put my things? Will I have my own room? I don't know anything about humans, I'm sorry. Everything is so big here. I'm nervous."

"There is nothing you need to know about humans except what you observe," said Edelstein. "If you're to live under my roof, you'll be as a human. I will not give you special treatment because you are different. You're already special for uniqueness' sake. Nervousness will not be tolerated. Understood?"

Most of the wordage flew over his head, but he nodded.

"Good. You want to learn music? We begin in an hour. My piano is in the front receiving room. Otto, show him his room."

The master departed. The little fairy's wings were quivering freely. He folded them down and reached for his luggage again, but Otto grabbed it for him and said nothing as he headed toward the stairs.

"He wasn't nice to me. Are all humans like that, Otto?"

"Don't ask questions," the boy replied as he pushed open the door to a second-floor bedroom. It was smaller than Feliciano's room at home, but the bed was so tall, he didn't know how to climb upon it except to flutter his wings and kick himself on top. He unbuckled the suitcase and the lute case, one holding a paltry amount of clothes and soap and homey sentiment, and the other containing his instrument, lovingly dinged on the edges, but perfectly in tune.

"Do you play any music?" The fairy asked again, twitching his wings and testing the bounce of the bed. It was as hard and stiff as it was big, and he doubted he'd be able to get comfortable sleeping in it.

"I don't, no," said Otto. "My cousin rarely plays these days, either. He's all wrapped up in his work, and when he's not working, he's conspiring with aunt Ilse or off with Eliza. All he wants to do is _smooch _her, but I know she'll never let that happen."

"The aunt, or the Eliza girl?"

"Either one. But that's just my speculation. Now he's got someone new to tug at the cobwebs in his brain. You'll make this house more _entertaining,_ for sure. He's so pissed about you being here."

Something about that statement made the fairy feel all cold inside. "I don't want to upset him. Why am I upsetting him? Please tell me. I just got here. I'm really confused."

Otto didn't answer. He only broadened his smirk and closed the door behind him, leaving Feliciano shut up by himself in the quiet, musty room.

* * *

"You are familiar with the baroque style, yes?"

"Em… I don't think I've heard that word before—"

"Well, I don't have time to teach you what you should already know. Straighten your back and lift your chin. I'll play you in, and you begin with a robust, open tone."

"But sir—"

"Herr Edelstein."

"Herr Edelstein, I don't know how to play the violin."

Indeed, he didn't. He was holding the instrument backwards, and the bow was all loose and uncoordinated in his tiny hands. He tightened his brow and looked with wide amber-gold eyes up at his tutor, who was growing ruddy with impatience even two minutes into the lesson.

"I can play the lute, and I can sing. Do you want me to sing? I'm good at singing!"

"Can you even read music?"

"Yeah, my grandpa taught me some reading, but my music really comes from the heart. I like to make up songs. Could I make up a song for you, please? If you're upset, I'm sure I could help you feel better."

Every muscle in the master's body seemed to clench at once, and Feliciano fancied he looked somewhat like a scarecrow hovering above a field. Why, he'd never seen anyone so stiff! Concerned, he darted forward and reached out to tug at Edelstein's sleeve. He was frightened by the human's face. So many _angles, _and so very _thin. _The curved ears were an odd enough sight without the starless eyes or the short, chunky neck.

"Do I upset you, Herr Edelstein? Otto said I upset you. Why? Did I do something wrong? I don't know how to play the violin. I could play my lute for you or sing, and if you want to teach me the violin, I could learn it, but I can't just play it right away. I've never played it before."

The beaky nose slid down between two shaky, clammy hands.

"Don't ask so many questions. Sing if you must. I suppose I should know what you're already capable of if I'm to tutor you."

Feliciano nodded. Then he scampered back to his place near the piano and let himself loosen up. His wings fluttered, and his shoulders shimmied, and his little hands jumped up in an artistic flourish of gesture. Delicate fingers hovered over the strings of his lute before he began to strum.

Then he sang, and his voice was like sugary clouds and sweet summer skies just under the kiss of rain.

It was a small song he had made u_p with his grandfather — one of true love in the summertime. Through honest emotion, he painted a picture of a young maiden and the knight sent to rescue her from the vicious ogres of the fen. Hooves clattered over stones. Breath was hitched in the stink of muddy waters. Clubs came crashing down into the squelchy muck, nearly dismounting the brave, brave knight before he worked a magic spell to disarm the ugly brutes. Up rose the maiden from the waters, glowing blue and shimmering like the brightest daydream. Her wings were all translucent and shining with dew._

Edelstein was immediately enchanted. Dark eyes widened enough for Feliciano to tell they were _purple — _a color odd even among fairies. Those spidery fingers tapped and clawed at the pant legs, then crawled upward until they were fiddling with the buttons of the waistcoat over the heart. Something misted up behind the spectacles — a glitter of tears slowly trailing down cool cheeks.

The fairy sang o_n. A rainstorm swept the maiden away, away from the man who was to be her true love. Every new note hung off the singer's tongue like a silvery drop of water before plip-plopping down to the world of the story. Down into the river flowed the fair maiden, down before she turned into a fish and splish-splished her way upstream to the man who loved her. _

The piano began to glow a fair shade of yellow. Then all gravity was released, and it floated upward, shimmering a bit in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Edelstein paid the spell no mind. He was openly tearful now. Shoulders shivered, and fingers twitched.

_And every summer stifling, the rainstorm would sweep her away again, and the clouds melted into fish, prophesying her return. For love is victorious, and love is magical, and love is—_

_CLUNK. _

Edelstein roared in furious pain as the piano, which had moments before been floating feet above the ground, carried along by its glistening yellow halo, suddenly dropped back to earth and landed squarely upon his toes.

Feliciano gasped. The master's face, once peaceful, was all screwed up, and his purple eyes burned like two tiny torches behind his smokey spectacles.

"I'm so sorry!" Feliciano squealed. "My voice is the source of my magic power. It's a gift I was born with. I always have a hard time controlling it. Whenever I make music, things happen. I'm sorry about your foot. I can try a healing song if it hurts. I'm good at those."

When Edelstein spoke again, his voice was like a thin reed pushing itself up out of his throat.

"There will be _no _magic in my house."

Feliciano cocked his head to the side. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"No magic. Can't you sing without doing magic?"

"W-well, what is the point if I can't do magic? My grandpa said that's how I show what's in my heart."

"We aren't abstract in this house. We just… I shouldn't see magic again! Now, listen as I play."

Feliciano watched and listened, with his legs all quivery and his wings twitching in fear. If this was human music, he wanted to cry. Edelstein played so stiffly, so forcefully and curtly. There was no emotion in the piece, and if there were, it was all diligently controlled by the way the master's spidery fingers arched over the keys, trapping them and snapping their tones off like roots.

"See? There is no need to be artful. Now sing this melody in whatever key I press. We'll test your range."

The fairy nodded, trembling. He copied the melody in each key, moving slowly upwards in his range, then slowly downwards. Watching stiff fingers jab the piano keys hurt to watch, but he pressed on. His mamma said this was good for him. Learning from someone who wouldn't judge him first for his talent…

Now he was more confused.

A vase of flowers floated through the air, surrounded by the same yellow aura. It dumped its water out on Edelstein's head. Then a floating book swam through the air just to punch Edelstein in the back of the neck. The piano gave a creak as it started rising up again. Edelstein stomped on the damper pedal, but it slid out from under his foot, and the piano keys knocked him square under the jaw.

"Eh! That must hurt! I'm sorry! Please let me try to heal you! I know a good spell-song for pain!"

"_No magic!"_ Edelstein barked. "Keep it down, can't you? When you feel magic, press it down! Keep it inside!"

"Inside… I'll try…"

So they began anew, with Edelstein playing simple melodies and Feliciano copying. But like before, the fairy felt that special place in his throat tingle and spark. The warmth of magical energy spread through his cells and nourished his body. It poured down his arms to prickle his fingers. It swirled down his legs to pool in his toes. It spun 'round in his chest, then shot up to burn his ears a bit.

His throat was heating up. He lowered his voice. Perhaps softening would slow the power he wrought? But he didn't know how to stop it completely. His music and magic were biologically linked — a gift his people had not known for centuries until his grandfather was born with it again. Feliciano bit his tongue and hummed, clenching every muscle, but then he caught the sinister smirk of Otto in the doorway and gasped before coughing. The piano dragged itself away from Edelstein and scooted off into the corner. The man fell right off the bench, flat on his face.

The little fairy scurried to his fallen tutor. He grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him up, but human bodies were so dense and heavy, and his little arms were straining before Edelstein smacked them away.

"I can't keep it in. I really tried. I understand if my magic scares you, but it's part of me. I can't control it. And, eh! _Ow!_ Please _don't!_ That _hurts!"_

Edelstein clamped one hand upon a wing and yanked it as hard as he could. A sharp screech broke out of Feliciano's throat — a screech of pain that sent a chilling wave of sorrow rushing through all who heard it. The master released his grip immediately, and his pupil tumbled to the floor, where he sniffled a bit.

"I'm so confused," the fairy whimpered. "I'm new to all this. Please. Don't hurt me. I didn't want to come here. My mamma said it was dangerous for me back at home because I'm the only music caster in Allegria, and she didn't want big scary fairies t-taking… taking advantage of me? Is that it? She said you were a family friend and a talented musician. Was it short notice? She said she sent you a letter about it."

Edelstein peered down at the pitiful lump of twiggy limbs and trembling wings. His breathing quickened, but his mind was totally blank. He thought without reason, without compassion, for that was too abstract for a crisis.

"Move the piano back where it was, and dust this whole room. You'll find supplies in the entryway closet. Come to supper when you're finished. It should be ready by then."

Feliciano lifted his head at the mention of food. He was famished.

"Em, by any chance, do you serve pasta here—"

"No we don't."

* * *

When the little fairy was sore enough to grunt his way through each new swipe of the dusting rag, he heard footsteps approaching the receiving room. Fearful, he scrubbed harder and harder on the window until he lost his footing on the stool and had to flutter to avoid crashing down on his face. He sighed at his hands. One was gray with dust, and the other held the nasty black rag. He wiped sweat off his forehead and smeared a big glob of greasy dust across his face.

"Hm? Is Roderich in here?"

Feliciano lifted his eyes to see a woman leaning in the doorway. Ah, a woman in trousers! Finally something familiar! In Allegria, all the ladies wore some variant of trousers so no one could peer up their skirts when they flew.

"I don't know where he is," the fairy admitted. "He made me dust this room and told me to come to supper when I was done."

"Really? Well, I can smell supper. Why don't you finish for now?"

The rag was out of his hands as soon as she spoke, and he bounded over to her. "I'm so hungry!"

"Me too. Oh, you're a cute little _bug! _I didn't see the wings! When did you get here? You must be the young fairy mentioned in that letter Roddy got. I'm Eliza."

Feliciano nodded. "Call me Felice. Otto said you were Herr Edelstein's girlfriend."

Her lips curled inward. "Otto is a strange boy. I wouldn't listen to the rumors he entertains himself with."

"He scares me, anyway. Both of them scare me. I only got here today, and both of them don't like me."

Eliza scrunched her brows. "Is that _so? _Well, they're both a bit dumb on the social side of things. It's in their blood. I bet they can't bear how cute you are. Come here, little bug. Let's get some food."

She scooped him up in her arms, and both smiled when he squeezed around her shoulders. She playfully pinched his pointed ears and petted him all the way into the dining hall. There, a long table was set, with Edelstein and Otto already in their places.

"Eliza!" Edelstein gasped. "Showing up unannounced again?"

"You invited her yesterday," Otto said.

"Shut up and eat, Otto. Eliza, I see you've met our guest."

"Yes I did," said Eliza settling Feliciano in a seat next to her. The serving maid came around with some slabs of pork and a scoop of lumpy mashed potatoes. To the fairy's palate, both were dry, bland, and absolutely tasteless. The meat was tough enough to chew through, but when he swallowed, it sat in his gut until all his hunger was replaced with a dull stomachache.

"So, is he as good a musician as the letter mentioned?" Eliza asked, cutting into her own tough pork with an easy ferocity.

Edelstein cringed at the question. "His range and tone are excellent. He has an ear for pitch. He never sings flat."

"He sings? You sing, Felice?"

The fairy shifted in his seat. Edelstein's expression was totally blank. The thick eyebrows only remained in their usual upward slant, and the wrinkles about the nose were set. How a nice lady like Eliza could find him _handsome _remained to be seen.

"Yes, I sing," the fairy said. "But I can't sing without doing magic, so I can't sing for you."

Eliza shared a look with the young master, indecipherable to young minds. He turned back to his tasteless food, then to the sharp eyes of Otto, which were already fully trained on it.

"Em, why are you staring, Otto?"

"You're not going to eat that, are you."

"No, I wasn't planning on it — Wait!"

Otto swiped the plate over and quickly devoured everything on it. He ate like a starved rodent before Edelstein swept his gaze over the children again.

"Stealing food again, Otto?"

"He gave it to me."

"Did you?"

"No, I didn't… I only said I wasn't hungry."

Edelstein was no longer listening. "Otto, this has gone on long enough! You may ask for more food, but you may not steal from guests!"

Of course, the rest of the pork and potatoes had already been eaten, most likely by the ravenous Otto.

"I'm a growing boy, and a growing duke." .

"Always been a growing boy," Edelstein muttered under his breath. "I'm assuming you still have room for cake."

"Yes, cousin."

Purple eyes narrowed. "You get one slice."

"That seems reasonable," Eliza agreed.

The meal may have been bland, but Feliciano forgot his stomachache when he saw the mouthwatering chocolate cake set before him. Even one slice was absolute heaven. It was thicker and richer than the Allegrian desserts he was used to, but so warm and sweet and tasty! His wings fluttered behind him when he finished. Otto, meanwhile, had frosting smeared clear across his face as he licked his plate clean. Edelstein scolded him for such tactless shoveling, but Eliza only laughed at how much the younger cousin liked his older cousin's baking!

"Don't complain to me about a stomachache," the master grumbled. "You've had them all week."

"Not because I ate too much."

"Then why? Toughen up, now. You are the master of your own health."

"Roderich, don't," Eliza said.

"He's been sick far too often. It's the middle of the summer."

"Roderich, _don't. _Otto, go show Felice the garden."

"The _garden!?" _Edelstein yelped. "No, no, not the garden. Show him the toilet and tell him about the off-limits room upstairs. Then both of you can get ready for bed."

Eliza huffed. "Roddy, eh, just excuse yourselves, kids. Don't take him personally. He's all stressed again."

Feliciano was very confused, but Otto begrudgingly left his seat and beckoned for him to follow. The fairy was led out of the dinner room, then up the staircase to the second floor.

"The room with the black door is off-limits. It's locked, anyway, but he doesn't want anyone near it."

"Why? What's inside?"

Otto's smirk returned, and it stretched so long and devious as to look unnatural on his youthful face.

"The Black Study is full of evil," he said. "He tells you he hates magic, but my cousin is really a _dark wizard. _He put aunt Ilse in her bed over there in the corner. Cursed her within an inch of her life. She hasn't walked in months. I've only seen glimpses of what's behind that door, but it's all nastiness. He's got _demons _in there. Demon eggs and baby demons all crawling around. And little mushroom trolls that will crawl in your ears and nestle in your brain and control you. Make you eat mud and chew rot. And he's got a _Külbex. _You know what that is, right? An enchanted chest that transforms anything placed inside of it into a horrible monster. He once put a pumpkin seed inside, and it became a huge sentient pumpkin that wrapped its vines around him and threatened to tear him limb from limb… what's wrong?"

The little fairy had stopped in his tracks. He wiped fresh tears away with his sleeve, then hid his face completely from view. His wings faded to brown along the edges.

"Felice?"

"Why are you so _mean?"_ Feliciano sobbed. "Why are you both so _mean? _I know what you're saying isn't true, but you're still saying it to scare me, and I don't like it. I'm so confused. Am I not wanted here? Because I don't want to be here either. I didn't want to leave home. I miss my family. My grandpa just died, and it still hurts."

Otto dropped the smirk. The fairy's enchanted cries lowered his spirits until he felt all heavy and downtrodden inside.

Feliciano brushed past him on the way to his room. He fluttered to jump up onto the bed, then snuggled under the covers and groaned at how hard the mattress was. Tears blurred his vision. His little body was wracked with muffled sobs. The _glares. _The _insults. _The _wing-pulling. _This was no learning experience. This was a prison! His mamma had been right when he eavesdropped on her! Humans were a cruel and jealous race!

"Hey… hey! Hey! Hey, Felice! Hey, wake up! Hey!"

The blanket above his head was slapped repeatedly. Feliciano groaned, exasperated, then pulled it off and rubbed his puffy red eyes.

"I want to be alone, Otto. Please go somewhere else."

"No, I… As the Duke of Liutberht, allow me to apologize. I cannot speak for my cousin. He's wicked for a number of reasons, and in a number of ways, but you are an honored guest. My behavior toward you has been unacceptable."

He gave a mock salute, which looked utterly stupid.

"Why were you mean to me, though?"

"I wasn't trying to be _mean._ That's just how I play. I'm sorry. I didn't know your grandpa died."

Reminded of this, another round of tears started up, and the wings grew even duller and browner. "I miss him so much. He taught me everything I know about music. He taught me magic comes from the heart, so that's where I should sing from. But… my mamma said he died because his heart broke. His son… my papà… died before I was born, and it made him so sad that eventually, his heart stopped making the magic for him. Now I'm here for safety, and I'm not allowed to use magic, or I'll get my wings pulled."

Otto shook his head. "You're a fairy. Of course you can use magic. You just can't use it around my cousin. He gets all weird about it. Magic has done some bad things to him."

Feliciano pouted his lips. "But I can't sing without magic happening."

"Hmm…" Otto paced around the bed, cold blue eyes narrowed at the floor. "Hey, can you keep a secret?"

"Is it a fun secret?"

"Not really, but it might help you. Come on, I have to show you something in my room."

Feliciano nodded. He jumped out of bed and followed Otto out of the room and to the middle of the second floor. There lay Otto's room, which was much bigger and filled with a multitude of cushy pillows and plush quilts and books and toys. The four-poster bed was so much softer than the guest bed. Its goosefeathers reminded the little fairy of home, and his heart sank once more.

"Under the bed. Here. Fold your wings down."

Curious, Feliciano hunched down and crawled under the bed after the other boy. Otto scooted to where the headboard above was flush with the wall. He pressed down on a plank of the floor until the other end popped up. Then he wrenched it off entirely, revealing a secret space beneath the floor. A cloud of dust made the fairy sputter and cough. Otto hid his nose behind his shirt collar before reaching down into the compartment and pulling out a wooden toolbox.

No tools graced the holders — only vials and vials of _potions. _Most were of a deep amber hue that glowed in the dark, while some were more colorful and lively in their containers. Otto took one amber vial and placed it in Feliciano's wandering hand. His eyes were sharp when he spoke.

"Sip a tiny bit."

"Now?"

"Now."

"What does it do?"

"Just sip some and see what happens."

Feliciano complied. He uncorked the vial and sniffed. The stuff reeked like eggs, but he sipped a tiny bit before replacing the cork.

The potion burned as it slid down his throat. It swelled and prickled and grew cold as ice. The fairy broke into a coughing fit. He felt as if freezing tendrils were reaching all throughout his body, jarring his muscles and slowing his blood. He tried to whine, but his voice was choked, and when a note did escape his throat, it was all quavery and weak.

"I feel sick. I don't like this."

"Is it diluting your magic?"

Feliciano nodded. He could no longer feel the warm tingling of magic flowing through his body, and his strength was halved.

"It won't kill you as long as you only take a few drops at a time. You can have that vial. Use it before the music lessons. He loves music, deep down. It's magic that stresses him."

Feliciano hacked. His stomach was bubbling from the potion's wickedness. Otto stuffed the potions back down under the floor and scooted out so he could quickly show his guest to the toilet. A little while later, and Feliciano was whimpering in bed again, the vial stuffed in his pillowcase.

"Where did you get those potions?"

"I found them in a dusty cupboard," was Otto's cryptic answer. "But they're a secret, remember."

"How did you know it would suppress my power?"

Otto fidgeted with his collar, then crossed his arms and paced even faster. He stopped when he caught the fairy looking straight at him with a suspicious glare.

"Okay, em, another secret. A secret more secret than the last one." He leaned in and whispered in one pointed ear.

"You… how does that work?"

"My father's side. A spirit or two. Some joking around. It's a small percentage, but it gives me some… _abilities…_ that I have to hide from my cousin. But it's a total secret, and you mustn't tell even the nicest person. Not Eliza. Not Ilse. Not the neighbor's dog. Okay? Swear it, Felice. It's very important that you tell no one. I'm _completely_ human, okay?"

Otto was pale, very pale, and Feliciano wondered whether this was a secret he shouldn't have learned.

"Okay, I swear. Can we be friends, now?"

The smirky boy nodded, then shared a genuine smile. "My cousin's gonna give you so much shit. You might as well have a friend."

"Eh, that's a naughty word, Otto!"

"What? _Friend?_ I know."

* * *

Roderich had exploded and quit the table.

Eliza could picture the inside of his brain. All screwy and full of scurrying snow. She thrust herself up from her seat, but waited a bit. Perhaps he needed to cool down some before he could think like a rational human being.

She went upstairs to find the children gently playing together. This was a pleasant development. At least one member of this tightass family was open to change. Poor unruly Otto needed a friend, anyway.

"Time for bed now, both of you. Felice, I'll help you with a bath."

"I know how to take a bath, Miss Eliza. I can scrub my wings, too!"

She wanted to squeal at such cuteness. "All right, bug. Just let me run it for you so you don't make a mess."

Eliza did just this, and when Felice was all squeaky clean, (and glittery,) she gave him a quick kiss that put a smile on his face and tucked him into bed. The same she did for Otto.

"Don't squeeze me, dear."

"I _love _you, though!"

"Otto, Otto, let go."

But he didn't, and his nails were digging hard into her back, so she wrenched his monkey arms off of her and tucked them under the blanket.

"Goodnight now, Otto."

"Goodnight, mama," he purred.

"You stinker," she said, giving him her own smirk. She shut the door behind her and pulled her hair back behind her ears. "Is that who I am now? A 'mama?' I should hope not… but I suppose Roderich is just as much a child as Otto, and I can't seem to get away from him no matter what I do."

Deciding on a slice of cake, she descended the stairs, only to be swept up in beautiful song.

The piece began slowly, steadily, hard tones like waves crashing on a stormy sea, and the moon eclipsed by a bright red spot of anger. Ugliness and spite. Stinging and burning. But as it continued, it grew more refined. Relaxed. Languid, even. Like water flowing over rocks, split by the sharp points, but softened into trickling rivulets that ran together into a cool and peaceful stream. The moon opened wide, growing from a crescent to a disk, and spinning into a glowing orb of pure emotion, fully open to the night and all its dramatic procession, wicked and white.

Eliza popped her head into the receiving room and took in the sight of him. Raving on his piano. His eyes were closed, and he spoke with his too-long fingers. His shoulders threw themselves back, and he swayed on the bench as if possessed by something wild. Then he slumped forward, folding into a simpler, sadder passage. Something glistened on his cheeks — a stream of tears, rarely seen.

The moonlight hit his face just right, and suddenly, the beak was softer, the hair smoother, the angles all curved and perfect. Ostrich feathers molted and withered and fell away from pale skin, and the most elegant man emerged. One long tone represented his rest. His body stilled, even and steady.

"Did you like it?"

Roderich asked despite his closed eyes, which fluttered open. Eliza found herself going forth to sit next to him on the bench. He didn't smile, but he squeezed her shoulder and shuffled through piles of sheet music she'd never seen before.

"You _do _play," Eliza said. "You've never played for me before. You're so good. You sound professional."

"Well, a fairy taught me."

"His father."

He paused before nodding. "He has the same voice. It's childish, but it's there. That magical voice. It used to make me feel safe. Now it makes me feel lost."

It was her turn to squeeze him. "I know it hurts. You miss him. Gigi. He must have been so good to you."

"Gigi was the kindest person I ever knew… before I met you. You're similar. Neither of you want to give up on me. I'm a wicked man. I snapped at children today."

"I'm sure you were just caught off guard. You'll be kinder tomorrow. But please, stop making Otto feel bad about his weaknesses. There's something personal there, right?"

Roderich nodded. "Yes. I see my younger self in him, and I want to hate it. But I know I'm not any better now. My heart is still weak."

"You're wiser," Eliza said. "You're much more rational now than earlier. Does playing clear your mind?"

"More than anything. I feel so refreshed. If humans had magic, I…" He scowled at the thought.

"It's the truest reflection of yourself. Play another, please? Play for me."

"Well, actually, I did write a song especially for you. But it was penned several years ago. I might not be able to read it now."

She snatched his spectacles away. "You can read fine. Come on, Roddy. I want to know the real you."

A little bubble of laughter escaped his throat. "Okay then. One more piece."

He played the love song he'd written — the one that described her as the sun, with the sparkling golden corona surrounding her wild chestnut hair like the crown of heaven. She lay her head on his shoulder as he trailed his fingers over each twinkle. He imagined himself plucking every little diamond out of the sky and weaving her a gown out of music and stars. That old desire boiled beneath his skin and sent shivers through his nerves, but it was not time yet. He would wait for her question. That was the polite thing to do.

When he finished, their eyes met, and for once, he could tell Eliza felt safe, with no grievances to lay upon his wicked shoulders. She gave him a few playful pats on the chest and stomach before traipsing out of the room in a dreamy trance.

"I'll see you soon."

"Be careful. Don't fly too high on the way home."

"I'll fly as high as I want, Roddy."

"It's Roderich."

They shared a look before bursting into giggles.

Roderich showed her out, and then he trundled up the stairs, yawning. What a dream of a day. A little fairy that sounded like Gigi. None of this was real, or was it? The extraordinary parts of his life, unfortunately, were always real.

"Roderich."

Including that one.

He found his way to the old bat's room and stood in the doorway. Poor Ilse. She had flown and fallen, growing more wicked the more she aged. She had once been a pleasant woman, Roderich remembered, but something about Edelweiss had soured her, and he didn't blame her for succumbing to the rot of the place.

"What is it, auntie?"

"Come closer, boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore. I'm nineteen. Be respectful to the master of this household."

"You be respectful to your elders, _boy. _Now come here."

He came in and knelt next to the bed. "Do you need another slice of cake? The leftovers always go to you or to Otto. I wish your appetite were bigger. He's going to get himself deadly sick again one of these days."

"It's about Otto," Ilse rasped. "I overheard him talking with that fairy boy."

"Yes?"

"He's keeping secrets from you. Magic secrets. I want you to watch him even more carefully."

"Oh, put that to rest, woman. Otto is not a—"

"I have my suspicions. You see what happens when you don't let him eat as much as he wants. He grows surly. He's a violent child."

"He isn't violent. He's just disrespectful. He's from a discriminating bloodline. If my father were here, he could attest to that."

Roderich turned to leave, but Ilse grabbed his wrist.

"Watch him."

"Yes, fine. I will."

"You're sensitive to dark magic. Your tainted blood gives you the power to sniff it out."

Roderich clenched his teeth and slammed the door on her.

* * *

**~N~**

**I hit the 100k word mark (because of course I did. You fools keep reading my telescopic melodrama.) There you have it. Chibitalia if I was allowed to write it. Because the kids should… have personalities. Of course, Feli's naturally confused the whole time here, so he hasn't come out of his shell yet. XD **

**Only some demons lay eggs — salamanders and harpies. "Demon" is a collective term for humanoid beings with elemental powers who can create and destroy energy at will. Dangerous folk! But ignorance of their kind has led to prejudice and stereotyping. Not as much as the changelings, though, since demons keep to their kingdoms in the east. **

**Next episode: Ludwig gets his most brilliant idea yet! But Gilbert doesn't approve… **

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net June 16th, 2020. Drink water. Do your incline. Put money in savings. Reposters get the cane. Reviewers, we got cronchy moon dust leftover from the other fic. **


	20. 2:12 In White Spider Woods

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**20\. In White Spider Woods**

**Ludwig decides it's about time he had some friends over. Gilbert, naturally, is not involved in making this decision. **

* * *

Ludwig knew a great deal about raising chickens, and one day, when he went to taste baker Adela's July jam, he hatched a brilliant idea.

"I have new chicks at my house! You should come see them," he told his friends Ada, Bibi, and Thomas. "I just live up on the promontory. It's not that far to walk."

"I thought you lived in a barn," said Bibi, completely serious.

"Yeah, I thought that too. 'Cause weren't you talking about a bunch of pigeons in your room?" Her twin added.

Ludwig shook his head. "No, it's not a barn. It's a nice house. It's just old. It must've been built a hundred years ago. My brother likes the pigeons when they fly inside. He says they're messy, but cute."

"But they're so gross," the twins snickered together.

"He talks to them."

"What do the pigeons say?" Thomas asked.

"The pigeons don't say anything, but they do whatever my brother tells them to," Ludwig said, licking his fingers clean of sugary cherries. "Hey, auntie Adela, can Ada and Bibi come see my chickens? We just got some new ones from the Schneiders."

At this, the baker woman shuddered and paused in her canning. She clicked her nails on the counter and eyed her daughters with the nervous air only a mother could muster. Thomas, too, she took in, because his mother was often sick or hobbling around town on a cane. (At this point, her health was gauged by whether her Spätzle and gravy had eggshells swimming in it.) Adela didn't know what kind of house Ludwig lived in because she had never been there. She didn't know what kind of creature reared the boy because she had never seen it face to face. But Ludwig was certainly reared by a creature, and he was certainly lying about his house.

"Is your brother okay with friends coming over?" She asked as an experiment, giving the boy a hard look. She didn't want to frighten him. Things were different in his household, she knew. But it would be too different for _her _if the children came home partly-chewed.

The boy took on a determined squeeze of the cheeks. "I asked him last week if I could have friends over. I said I wanted to play host for once. He said it was okay."

"Well, did you ask him if it was okay _today? _Does he have to make certain arrangements for guests?"

She feared he would understand the nuance, and indeed, all four children gave her an odd look for this, as if Ludwig's family situation was a special and unfairly-guarded secret.

"We don't usually have guests over, but we can set up some tables, and I can ask my brother to make his soup!"

"What kind of soup?" Ada asked. "I don't like carrots."

"Mm, it has carrots in it. But we have bread, too!"

"I want bacon," said Thomas.

"We can make bacon. But you have to be careful because the grease spits out of the pan and it can burn you."

The old battle within the woman's heart was remembered. Ludwig, a sweet little boy she had known from a baby, living with… whatever _Wilhelm _was. She'd always known he disliked his human skin. He aged slower than the other teens, like he was confused on this process, and he tried too hard to understand Ludwig's simplest behaviors.

Then she'd seen the shadow of his true form on that wall so many years ago — the spidery body and the rasping voice that still whispered at her when she walked alone at night… She'd seen a flash of the palest skin — a color like frozen and moldering flesh. The white of death.

Some days, Adela felt she should hug her girls and tell them a dozen times such pale creatures really existed — very dangerous monsters who would devour them and leave their bones in the dust for the whole world to mourn, (though the whole world never knew them personally and had no business sticking their beaks in the affair…)

But if such a power existed — one that separated humans from Wilhelm's breed in more than appearance, she would not let it perturb her. It hadn't perturbed Ludwig, she reminded herself. So the more she thought like Ludwig, the less of a fuss she could make. There was no difference, really. No force of provocation. Differences were imaginary. Believing in them gave Wilhelm's kind some invisible power they never deserved in the first place. It was a new day. No use dwelling on the old ones.

Finally, the boy seemed to catch on to her worrying, or at least realize the weight of his request. He slumped his shoulders and focused on a new spoonful of jam.

"Lud, you can take Ada and Bibi to see the chickens if you're back before nightfall, okay? You girls stay together, too. It's a big woods up there."

"I know where to go!" Ludwig said. "Let's go right now!"

"Wait," said Adela. "What about Thomas?"

"I'm not working with my papa today, so I can go anywhere," Thomas said.

"And I can bring my salt if we meet any dark creatures," said Bibi.

"Then we're off! Let's go see the chickens!"

Adela watched the noisy children disperse, leaving sticky spoons on the counter and fingerprints in the flour. Her husband came in with a new rack of cream bottles to find her shivering and kneading dough with uneven strokes of her hands.

"Where did the kids go?" He asked. "Are they swimming in the stream again?"

She paused, sucking in a breath she would send to her children the moment she sensed their harm, then nodded. "Yeah, yeah, they're going swimming."

* * *

Misty magic led Ludwig up the beaten trail toward the thickening trees of the promontory. The scents of woodsmoke and baled alfalfa soon sank below where little boots trod. Ludwig breathed in moistened earth and dew-studded leaves, untouched by the baking sun of summer outside the forest walls. He trailed his hands along the trunks of trees, feeling lichen tatter and crumble to dust under his fingers.

To his left rolled the mighty river northward, all blue-green and shimmery beneath the steamy foam of fog. The sandy bank rose up short on its edge, then transitioned to a lush incline of trees and shrubs that twisted and leaned up toward the path of the morning sun. Ludwig jumped through the ring of a gnarled pine that had grown for a hundred years upon the slope. He scampered through the beds of thorny grass and picked a few purple flowers he thought his brother would like.

To his right rose the great green cliff, through which the trail weaved, until Ludwig quickly darted to the right and vanished from its visible sand. He beckoned the other children into a kingdom of spiderwebs and slippery snakes sliding underfoot. Squirrels chattered and darted aimlessly overhead, while the various sparrows and swallows twittered to greet their returning prince of the forest. The twins beat a few mosquitoes out of their faces, and Thomas quickly snatched up a toad, which he plopped in the pocket of his trousers until its muddy stone of a body squirmed out again.

"It's just through here," Ludwig said. "You can all come in."

He stood before a twisted hoop of belladonna rising ten feet into the air from its mangled roots. The vines all twisted and intertwined like a sturdy gateway. A few bonfliers scattered from the leaves and flashed before vanishing into the daylight. Beyond the hoop was a tunnel of sorts, formed by the foliage of giant grasses. Within, the sunlight was mottled and changed to an eerie green.

"Look at the pretty!" Ada exclaimed, pointing to the giant purple flowers. "It's like we're bees!"

Ludwig gave a little smile at this. His house could be much more fun than the ones in town. He'd prove it! He didn't need one of those heating stoves, and he certainly didn't need all those soldiers and trains Thomas had! Gilbert was right. Those things carried bad energy that would offend the forest spirits.

But he wanted one so _bad._

The giant flowers bloomed as the children passed, releasing more colorful insects into the open air. A glitter of dewdrops rained down upon the sodden earth. Ludwig instructed how to hop over the puddles and step carefully on the rotten planks laid down to retain the mud. In winter, the tunnel grew into a frosty ice tube lit by phantom flames, but in summer, it was a secret passage of enormous toads and ghostly chimes.

Ludwig grew nervous as they approached the tunnel's end, but he took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. With a burst of confidence, he darted out and gestured to the grand stone tower sticking out of the earth like a half-buried pipe. The wisteria was in full bloom, giving off its luxuriant aroma.

"This is my home."

"This is where you live?" Bibi asked. "You said it was a house."

"It is a house. I have my own room, and it has a kitchen and bookshelves. Oh, I can show you where the outhouse is. But, em… it might be too stinky for girls."

Thomas was skeptical. "But… don't you live on a farm? Your brother always talks about his fields."

Ludwig shook his head. "The fields are elsewhere. I can show you the chickens! Let's go this way!"

He led them to the other side of the tower and behind. A quickly-constructed shed now served as the bathhouse, while the old one had been stripped and turned into an elegant little chicken coop. A host of hens hobbled about, pecking bugs and fluffing their feathers. Ludwig hunched down and scampered to the back, where the chicks were kept in their cage for safety. The air was filled with a flurry of chirps.

"If you're gentle, you can hold them."

The twins were eager for this, while Thomas stood behind, still gazing up at the stone tower.

"Ludwig, you said you live in a _nice _house. This isn't nice. This looks like you're _squatting." _

"What's squatting?" Ludwig asked.

"It's when you move in somewhere that isn't yours and stay there without permission."

"Oh, we have permission to stay here. That's what the tunnel is for. It only lets people in who have permission."

"What happened to your _old _house?"

"This has always been my house. I grew up here."

"Did your parents die here?"

"Thomas, don't be mean," Ada said. "Luddy doesn't like talking about his parents."

"No, I can talk about them," Ludwig said. "I just don't remember them. I don't know who they were."

He spoke plainly, but he was shivering, and a tightness was balling up in the back of his throat. What was so difficult about this? Couldn't he have friends over, too? Couldn't he share his experiences with the rest of them? It was a _very _nice house. Very clean and tidy! He and Gilbert made sure of that!

Gilbert…

"LUD! YOU GET YOUR PANCAKE EARS UP HERE! NOW!"

"Ach," Ludwig muttered. "I'll be back. My brother wants me. You can keep petting the chicks. Just don't lose them."

"Why did he say 'pancake ears?'" Thomas asked.

"I have big ears," Ludwig said, and he thanked the stars it was true.

He found Gilbert on the second floor of Piyo Tower, using every bit of space to keep books or bottles or magical experiments of some kind. The changeling was leering at a clear jug of powder he held between his fingers. He looked about ready to chuck the thing out the window.

"Just can't trust this premixed store-bought stuff," he grumbled. "It doesn't work on me, but I'm not flying all the way to my usual test subject and having it give mediocre results. I don't want to see Eliza making bad choices over a single jug of powder. Now, maybe if I combine it with some other ingredients, I'll have the excuse to run trials. Pumpkins aren't in season. I'll have to use blueberries."

"Gilbert?"

"Yeah? Hey, Lud, you wanna go pick me some blueberries this afternoon?"

"I already looked on the bushes. You ate all of them."

"Then I need you to find some new bushes and pick like two buckets full. I just don't know what to think of this stuff by itself. I took some. It only gave me a bad stomachache."

Ludwig inspected the jug.

**INSTANT CAKE POWDER, **read the label.

"Brother, this is a baking mix, not a magic potion."

"Oh poo. You might be right about that. Can you still go pick blueberries, my little wizard? They'd be tasty in a cake!"

"Yeah, I have some friends over, so they can help."

"_Friends?"_

Gilbert's ears swiveled back. He dashed up the stairs to the third floor, then peeked out the back window of Ludwig's room to spy three children far below. Furious, he wheeled on Ludwig, who shrank beneath the creature's shadow.

"Lud, you insolent _gremlin! _You know the rules about bringing people home with you!"

"I get to go to their houses. Why can't I bring them here? I want my friends to see my house and meet my family."

"Oh, so you're fine with the whole of Rhein Valley coming up here to shackle me in iron and take you away?"

"That's _not _going to happen."

"It _will _happen. There are things you should be old enough to understand, and one of them is that my people are wicked toward those people, and they won't hesitate to be wicked back. It's an ancient dynamic. No one is allowed to break it."

"Guess I'm not old enough to understand that."

"I don't need cheek from you."

"They're just kids. They won't care. Show them your transformations. Take them on a flying sled ride. Show them how fun magic can be!"

"_No." _

"Why _not!?" _

"Because those kids' parents don't want them thinking changelings are safe and fun to be around!"

"You're safe and fun around _me!"_

"You have no choice but to trust me. I'm your guardian. But other kids go home and tell their parents they want to learn magic because the cool, fun changeling does it, and _SMACK! _We've got that whole village at our doorstep with torches, accusing us of warping young minds. I know it's unfair, but I'm trying to protect you, Ludling. It's my worst nightmare to lose you."

Ludwig's pout grew even poutier. "Change, then. Be my normal human brother. Changelings like lying, right?"

"We don't lie in this tower."

"Well… well _shit, _Gilbert!"

And before Gilbert could respond, be it in scolding or laughter, the brooding boy had vanished back down the stairs and out the door of the tower. The changeling frowned, his ears folding and his fangs creeping out. He went and leaned on the window sill to pout.

"I can't show myself. I want to, but I can't. I have to keep him safe. Even if it means I'm nowhere closer to feeling like an actual part of the world…"

* * *

"Where are we going to find blueberries?" Ada asked. She and her twin carried the buckets with giddy smiles and fought to keep single-file behind Ludwig. Thomas trailed behind, still skeptical of the whole affair. Ludwig didn't live in a barn. He didn't even live on a farm. There were weird, _magical _things happening…

"I don't know," said Ludwig, "but when I grow up, I'm going to be a wizard who helps people, so I have to know how to find things in nature."

"Are blueberries a magic fruit?" Bibi asked.

"Well, em... " He caught himself before talking about his brother. "I read this book that said they're good for health potions… and also you can use them if you're making a potion to grow into something larger."

"What did you say those bugs are called?"

"Bonfliers. They've got phos-phor-escent venom that gives predators hallucinations."

"You learned that from a book, too?" Ada asked.

The boy puffed his chest a bit and swung his arms higher as he marched. "Yup. I read lots of books about magic."

"You know stuff about _imps?_" Asked Thomas.

"I know they don't like to be called that. They're fine with _changelings, _and if you want to flatter them, call them _fairies of darkness, _or even _The Fae Born Of Shadow, Sons and Daughters Of Fate. _

"There are _girl _changelings?" Ada said.

"Of course there are. They're people, just… odd people. But, em… boy and girl changelings can't have kids together. They don't work with each other."

The children had a grand old laugh at this, alluding to the affairs of the adult world rarely understood. Ludwig felt a bit strange about this and offered another bit of trivia to swing the mood.

"Did you know there are different kinds of changelings based on what kind of shadow they're born out of?"

"Really?" Asked Ada.

"Yeah. Like, you know about _die Schmetterdämonen, _the usual pale, scrawny changelings with long ears and sharp teeth. They're born out of shadows cast upon the earth. But there're also _die Spritzendämonen, _who are quite rare_. _They're born out of shadows cast upon water, and they can change both shape and size. They've got mottled gray skin and webbed fingers and toes, but they're surprisingly bad swimmers. No muscle to help them fight currents."

"Oh, nasty!" Bibi squealed. "How do you keep those ones away?"

Ludwig wrinkled his nose. "The same iron and salt will scare them. And they really don't like heat."

Thomas had just caught himself another toad and was shoving it deep in his pocket. "You could write your own book about monsters."

"They're not _monsters. _They're _fairies," _Ludwig retorted. He felt that same uneasy feeling balling up in his throat, pulling his tongue before he could say anything more. His world was Gilbert's world. He watched the bonfliers while drinking chocolate elixirs and had late-night conversations about the spiritual relevance of mackerel. Once, he became a hobgoblin, and another time, his brother became an eagle. These things were fun and wonderful and _completely normal. _

But they didn't feel so normal around his friends.

He hadn't Gilbert's ears or sense of smell, but Ludwig had learned to track animals by their pawprints and the chewed stems they left behind as they loped or leapt or lumbered through the leaves. Beyond the secret tunnel of sparkling grass, he identified the tracks of a deer and pressed on through thorny brambles and tangled shrubs. The sharp rocks of the forest floor were harsh on the twins' shoes, so a shortcut was taken, and then a detour, then a looping sideways shimmy between a double-trunked tree.

Deeper into the woods and higher up the promontory they went, until Ludwig was sure he could see the top of Piyo Tower sticking up below him. He made sure to stay far from the sound of rushing water, and to stay quiet whenever he heard the tinkling of bells and the snuffling of Toadmuffin muzzles. He spied a Toadmuffin or two hiding in the holes of hollow trees. The odd creatures shrank as they aged, and the fully-shrunk adult came only up to his ankle. Tiny little plumes of green feathers on tails snaked through the trees above. Ludwig heard the whispers.

"_Fruit… fruit… tasty fruit… " _

A hobgoblin's fruit was the most powerful of hallucinogens, (a word even Ludwig couldn't pronounce, though he tried,) and so he urged his friends on past the little flightless rat-monkey-eagles, though Ada begged to hold and pet one.

The children then passed into a sparse grove of pines as thick around as all four of them. The ground was sandy and crunchy underfoot, and the dry trails of rivulet dew ran like the veins of the earth, wiggling between roots and carrying phantom streams all the way to the grass-tufted edge of the high cliffs reaching out over the river.

A miniature sign stuck into the earth read out **WHITE SPIDER WOODS, **and indeed, thousands of tiny white spiders with horns on their heads crept through the leaves and the knots in trees like stars. Webs hung from every bough, formed from a shimmering silky substance that was divinely soft, but terribly sticky. Both twins shrieked when their hands became stuck and a few dozen spiders swarmed over their fingers to detach the stolen net. Ludwig had never gone so deep in the forest before. But at last, he found a blueberry bush, and he readily directed his friends to fill up the buckets so the creepy place could be left in peace.

"There should be enough. Don't eat them! My brother wants to put them in his cake!"

"I'm hungry," Bibi complained. "Are we gonna have some bread and bacon, too?"

"I want soup," Thomas said.

Ludwig was more than peckish himself, but his head was clearer in the woodsy air, and he focused doubly on collecting the blueberries. He had to remember the way they came! Otherwise nightfall would quickly descend, and the darker beasts would emerge from the soil and bark. Too many critters lurked in the magical forest at night.

"What's this animal here?" Ada asked. Her face was smeared with juice, and Ludwig felt an anxious ache ball up inside him. The fruit was for _baking! _

"Em, let me see it… Oh, don't touch that! It's a soccrabus!"

It was a crablike creature — its flesh a gnarled, mottled pink and its pincers wiggling to protect the soft part of its body under the shell. Two beady black eyes on stalks peeked out before ducking under. The soccrabus muttered to itself in a surprisingly humanlike manner. Ada leaned in to listen closer, but Ludwig clapped his hands over her ears and steered her away from the mesmerizing patterns on the pink shell. Flustered, the soccrabus kicked its legs out wildly in all directions, then watched helplessly as the children marched away, and scuttled under a log.

"They're said to be children of idle thoughts. If you're pinched by a soccrabus, you'll lose all motivation and become a weak shell of your full potential."

Ada's eyes grew wide. "Thank you for saving me, Luddy!"

"It's no trouble," he smiled.

Bibi was poking at a large, octopus-like creature that appeared to be made of moving clay. Its one-segment body was sky-blue, and it looked on the scene with two great, glittery eyes.

"A pfikssare," Ludwig explained. "Shy, benign creatures. Very knowledgeable. Some can even read."

Bibi offered her salt can, but the pfikssare was too frightened and backed away on its ten tubular legs. It then _schlorped _down into the moist earth of a shaded tree and was gone.

"Okay, Lud, bet you don't know what _this _creature is."

"What do you have, Thomas?"

"_This!" _Thomas exclaimed, wrenching his victim out of the blueberry bush.

His body was round — so round that Ludwig couldn't tell where his head ended and his belly began. His skin was all sleek and slimy and gray, like a shadow on snow. A tuft of curly hair graced his spotted head, and his pointed ears twitched madly with annoyance. Stubby legs quivered, and lanky arms swung up to pinch the bully's nose.

"Wow! That's a troll!"

"I'm a _mushroom troll, _of course! My name is _Wecken!" _The creature squeaked, finally breaking free and rolling over to Ludwig. He smoothed his little waistcoat and tightened his belt around his belly. He smelled terribly of dirt and rot, and Ludwig could see the hundreds of little mushrooms poking out of his skin like warts.

"I was taking my nap, of course," he continued. "Always good to nap in White Spider Woods. It is a place where the fouler creatures may find respite in relative peace. But river spirits are not as foul as some."

"You're a river spirit?" Bibi asked.

"You've heard of mushroom trolls, of course. We preserve the river. Keep it flowing on course. Keep the nasties out of it. Keep the good fungi in, of course. Lure in powerful magic and keep it here, of course. You've heard of people trapped by the Rhein Valley, of course. Enchanted by its charms and think of it as home forever. All the work of mushroom trolls."

"Do you crawl in people's ears? That's what I've heard," Ada said.

"We shrink to the size of acorns and crawl in ears, of course. Make humans eat fungi."

"I _knew_ I saw a troll somewhere near home," Ludwig said.

The mushroom troll gave Ludwig a strange look. Then his little gray eyes sparkled in recognition. "Yes, of course! I know you! You are Ludwig, of course! Charge of that foul changeling Gilbert, not as foul as Fritz, of course."

"Em… I don't think so. That's not me. I'm a different Ludwig," Ludwig said. He wanted to say otherwise, but he remembered Gilbert's warnings, and his lips were sealed.

His statement offended the troll, for he suddenly puffed out his globular cheeks and swelled in size until he was as tall as Ludwig himself. The stubby legs waddled over, and slimy gray hands pressed him up against a tree. Ludwig grimaced. The creature's breath was as horrid as a rotting slough.

"You tell a _lie,_ of course!" He screeched. "Mushroom trolls do not like lies! The river is pure and clear! Words must be like water!"

Ludwig held his breath and covered his nose. If what he read was true, the spit of a mushroom troll contained thousands of tiny spores that could grow in any dark, moist environment — the human body being a more sinister location. His heart sped in his chest as he struggled against the creature's grip. Bibi was screaming, and Ada was at the mushroom troll's back, kicking his ankles and throwing her weight into the solid roundness of the thing.

This made the mushroom troll angrier. It snapped its fingers, and the clouds above grew denser and darker until a downpour rocked the whole of White Spider Woods. The pfiksarre was blown about on the gale. The soccrabus was caught in a miniature flood. The earth grew all mushy, and the trees sank and sagged into their roots. The children all screeched and held on to tree branches to stay steady in the heat of the storm.

"Tell the truth!" The creature seethed. "You are Ludwig, of course. A swap-child, of course. Carried to Piyo Tower as a baby in the dead of winter, of course. Raised by foul, foul Gilbert."

Ludwig felt his heart crack at this, but he held strong. "I'm a different Ludwig."

"There is no different Ludwig! There is only the Ludwig who lives on the promontory — stolen as a babe! That is you, of course! And your brother is ever so wicked! Mixing potions that feather the skin and widen the stomach!"

"Ah! You don't know everything! He has not made a single chicken transformation potion that works! It is his life-long, geh, en… endeavor! Of c-course! B-but I'm a different… Lud…"

Before he could finish, Ludwig broke into a tearful cough. The mushroom troll grew angry at the lie, and his anger puffed him up even bigger. Swampy spit ran down Ludwig's face and gassed up his throat. His stomach began to churn and squirm about from the spores, which were already taking root and bloating into mushrooms wherever they landed.

Suddenly, the mushroom troll recoiled, deflating and letting go of Ludwig for a second. Behind him was Bibi, aiming her can of salt at the creature's back.

"Yes, Bibi! Keep doing that! It's a creature of darkness! It doesn't like salt!" Ludwig cheered.

"Grab my hand, Ludwig!" Thomas yelled.

Ludwig launched himself into the dirt, scrambling on hands and knees to get to his friend. Thomas pulled him up and hastened with him out of the spidery grove.

"Ada! Bibi! Come on!" Thomas yelled. "We have to get out of here!"

Bibi couldn't bear to leave the blueberries. She carried both buckets as fast as she could over to the boys. Ada, meanwhile, had taken the salt can and shook it at the mushroom troll until its anger was too much to handle. He raised his hands to the sky, and a great torrent of rain poured down to wash Ada right out of the grove. All four children were caught in the flood. They slid and tumbled and thrashed, but the mud was far too slick, and it carried them into trees and brambles and dangerously close to the cliff before shifting again and carrying them into the safety of a twin-trunked pine.

Ludwig had fallen into a deep slumber. Mushrooms were springing up all over his face where the troll had slobbered. He moaned and twisted, but the narcotic power was too strong.

"Lud?" Ada said. "Lud, wake up and help. Please? I'm scared. We have to get back."

A brilliant white flash of lightning blinded the whole world before all was dark again. Raindrops were splattering against Thomas' back as he hunched around the others, trying to keep them warm. Thunder crackled like the cruel laugh of some unseen giant bathing in the clouds. The children screamed and hugged each other close, finding no solace in their muddy clothes and sopping shoes. Bibi's braids came all loose and scraggly about her shoulders. Thomas' toad escaped and hopped away into the shadows.

Then the winds shifted.

A throaty screech filled the air. Huge black wings descended, and an eagle with eyes like rubies soared down to perch above them. It chirped mournfully when it saw Ludwig, then screamed so shrilly that the clouds began floating away at once.

"Lud could tell us what that is," Ada whimpered.

The eagle dropped down until its talons gripped the bark right above their heads. It nipped a square of fabric with its beak, then pulled what looked like a robe over its body. Beneath, its form started rippling, expanding, crackling and squelching and swelling and growing until two scrawny feet with too-long toes burst from the bottom. A skull of a face grew into the hood, and two twiggy arms stretched and slipped through the sleeves.

This new creature reached into a pocket to produce a little bottle full of purple fluid. It leaned down and pressed the stuff to Ludwig's lips until it had all disappeared down his throat. Instantly, the mushrooms began to melt.

"Ach, kid, you tease me more than Fritz. I bring all these potions in case you've lost an arm, and all you need is an antifungal? Did you stick your head down a troll hole?"

Bibi flashed her salt can, and Thomas brandished a sharp stick, but the robed changeling merely grimaced at these. He slapped Ludwig's cheeks until the boy roused, then hoisted him to his feet. The storm clouds had all floated off into the mist of a golden afternoon, and the ghost of a rainbow flickered and shone in the frothing foam of the river valley. Only the echo of thunder rocked the trees.

"Come on, kids. Let's get back. Bring those blueberries."

Gilbert turned on his heel, jerking Ludwig behind him. The boy was all a fiery fluster as he trailed back. He said nothing, even when his friends questioned him incessantly about the development. He knew such a hideous creature? Where was it taking them? Was it safe? Why did it sound like a raspy Wilhelm? Why was Ludwig's private life so _weird _and _magical? _What was a swap-child? Was Ludwig adopted? Where were his real parents? Did they not want him?

He leaned into Gilbert's cavity of a stomach as they tromped together back through the secret tunnel into the safety of Piyo Tower and its environs.

"I'm sorry, Lud," Gilbert mumbled. "It might not be your wish, but it's the best I could do."

Then he pointed to the foot of the tower. There, a magical picnic feast was set out, for four human children, one voracious changeling, and a great many pigeons, who were already swarming and cooing over the bread.

Ludwig lifted his head. He wiped the trails of tears away and hugged his brother tight.

"I love it! Thank you, brother!"

"Cheeky little pancake-ears."

"You pale spider."

"That's your brother?" Bibi asked.

"But he's a monster," said Thomas.

But with Gilbert squeezing his hand tight, Ludwig could step forward and speak loud and clear for the first time all day.

"You've barely met him!"

Then he bolted to the fabulous spread, set out upon a table enchanted to stretch much longer than usual. Bonfliers flew in the shapes of spheres and hearts and swirling suns above. Tiny sparrows with little aprons scampered about, serving each guest a tall glass of juice. The eagle owls pulled out chairs, and the magpies spooned up extra bowls of soup. Even the baby chickens were allowed to hop and huddle atop the tablecloth.

Ludwig took his place at the table, mouth watering at his brother's famous potato and asparagus soup. Gilbert was already digging in, slurping down his first bowl with a look of malevolent glee. The other children were disturbed by this, but Gilbert shared a smile with his boy and kept on eating. Together, they would face what ludicrous shadows were presented to them.

"So kids, what kinds of mischief do you get up to with my Luddy? Besides taking his mushroom haircut too seriously."

* * *

When the sun sank over the western promontory, stretching the black shadow of Piyo Tower over the nesting chickens, Gilbert helped to escort the children back through the secret tunnel and down into the valley. Bellies were full, and minds were at ease. Ada and Bibi had spent an hour gushing over the chicks. Thomas had taken interest in Ludwig's paltry collection of wooden animals. Ludwig had read story upon story and fact upon fact aloud. Gilbert disputed some facts and upheld others, much to the delight of the curious children. And finally, after Ludwig had begged him enough, the changeling demonstrated his magic. First he willed a whirlwind into being, then he transformed into an eagle and braved the wild winds.

There were no mishaps with potions or any injuries to report. By the end of the day, Ludwig was grinning and laughing with his friends like all the days before, with a host of new things to discuss for the future.

But close to the village, Gilbert put his foot down, stopping the children in their tracks. His ears twitched, and his face grew grim.

"People are coming," he said. "Fearful people."

"They don't have to be afraid, right?" Ludwig asked.

Gilbert shook his head. "It is time," he said.

He tapped his pale, spidery fingers along each of Lud's friends' foreheads, humming an eerie melody in his throat. Then he scampered off to hide behind a thick tree and waited.

Adela and her husband burst through the foliage to find Ludwig leading his friends alone.

"Oh, girls, you're _safe!" _The baker woman shrieked. "Eh, hello, Ludwig."

"We're safe," said Ada, confused. "We just went to Ludwig's house and saw the chickens and picked blueberries."

"Yeah, and Luddy told us stories," said Bibi.

"Is that what happened? Well, Ludwig was a good host, wasn't he? Did you see his brother at all?"

"Mm, no, he wasn't there," Ada said, and her sister agreed.

"Thank you for entertaining them, Ludwig," said Adela. "You're a good friend."

But Ludwig had already vanished into the trees, leaving his friends alone and safe in their journey back to the village.

"I had to take their memories of magic," Gilbert said.

"I know. I wish you didn't have to."

"Was it fun anyway? Is that what you wanted? A… play-date? I thought it was fun. Of course, I never got over my nerves, but I think I succeeded at distracting myself."

"Gilbert, why do people think you're dangerous? Don't they know you're afraid, too?"

Gilbert paused, then pulled Ludwig up to his side and petted his hair — the only good mushroom on the boy.

"No. They don't know I'm afraid, and they'd rather believe I don't feel fear at all. It makes them feel like they have something to fight for. They want to make me seem much bigger and scarier than I am so their cause is meaningful."

"What's their cause?"

"I don't know. But I'm not going to find out. As long as I have you believing in me, I know I'll be okay."

"Don't you want friends?"

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "Ha! My changelingness is unfair, but a _wicked wizard _certainly can't have friends!"

Ludwig's smile returned. "I suppose not. You are a pretty wicked wizard. When can we brew more potions together?"

"Would you like to help me brew the most evil of potions tonight?"

"It's a cake mix."

"Cake mix. Right."

"Those potion bottles on your window sill are full of muffin batter, too. To make muffins, not give people muffin-tops."

"Well, _shit, _Luddy!"

* * *

**~N~**

**Episode 20! This is the time when I realize even by age 7-8, Lud's already feeling the tension between being a human kid but also having this weird family situation with a caretaker who raises him differently than his friends. Also, he's got a skewed sense of morality from Gilbert's evil-doings. He sees Gilbert preparing curses, and he's like, "Oh, that's okay. It's like a game," because to a kid, of course the ugly creature is good at wicked deeds, despite how nice he is. But he's not gonna realize until he's much older how bad those behaviors and activities are, and how Gilbert's people have their own problems... **

**On the day I finish writing this, I'm invited to come pick blueberries at a farm just out of town. XD **

**Secret person, enjoy your hidden shout-out! Thank you for being a long-time reader and reviewer.**

**Next episode: The Tales of Edelweiss**

**Published by Syntax-N FanFiction . Net July 10th, 2020. Tip your pizza servers, you fools. They get a blast of nasty olives in the face when they have to rinse the containers. Don't repost. **


	21. 2:13 Garden Variety

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**21\. Garden Variety**

**In the musty manor Edelweiss, a friendship flowers.**

* * *

**Pixies and Posies  
**_**for Shrubby**_

In a tiny upstairs room, with nothing but a bed, an empty closet, and a fine spread of dust, Felice lay his chin upon the windowsill and fluttered his wings like a newborn butterfly trying to make sense of life outside the shell.

It was a hot summer. Not so hot as the sunny southern climes he was used to, but harsher without the sea breeze blowing in. Everything was stagnant, frozen under woolen clouds of moisture. Like Edelweiss itself, the weather was timeless and stale and rarely filtered. At least there was a flowery scent outside.

He gazed with heavy-lidded eyes upon the flower garden. It was well-maintained — something about Herr Edelstein's mother wanting it so. The lilies were faded, and the irises long crinkled, but now the lupines and coneflowers were crowded in the beds. Wild pink roses opened their dewy faces to the sun, reigning supreme over colonies of columbines and whole hosts of hostas. Pollinators commuted through the hedge maze. There was the reckless young bee. There the vain butterfly. And ah! For a split second, the lustrous hummingbird, her body swiveling as she hovered for just a second above the rosebush.

A light knock brought the fairy out of his sunlit reveries. Otto was at the door. He'd been unbuttoning his coat to annoy his cousin again, and with that fold in his pant leg, Felice knew he'd been kicked in the shin.

"I haven't seen you since this morning. How was the lesson?" Otto asked.

Felice slumped, falling from the sill and melting into his mattress until his wings stopped him from rolling right off the bed.

"It was okay. Today I learned about transposition, and tomorrow we're going to reharmonize Bach."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know! I don't know anything he talks about! I always thought I could be a good musician. I know it's important to learn my scales. But why does Bach need to be reharmonized? Why do I have to do it? I don't have the courage to ask."

"Don't ask me. My cousin's never cared about music theory so much as he does now."

"Exactly. I think he's being all stiff on purpose when he plays during my lessons. I think he really can play from his heart, but he doesn't want me to see it. So I'm stuck identifying chords and matching pitches and reharmonizing humans with names I can't pronounce."

"In other words, you're tired."

Felice nodded with a yawn. He pushed himself up, then slid off the bed and walked with wilty wings to the door.

"That potion makes me so sleepy. It's like all my energy is weighing me down instead of keeping me awake."

"You get used to it," Otto said. "Do you want to take a walk outside? It's really hot, but I won't mind."

"Yeah. We can do that. Can we go in the garden again? It smells so pretty down there, and I like watching the bees."

"Sure. Just let me take off this coat. It's way too hot for one."

There were different levels of "off-limits," Otto had taught Felice. The Black Study was off-limits moreso than the flower garden, but not as off-limits as the orchard. And if they were caught, Otto reminded him, he was the Duke of Liutberht, and he'd only receive one blow for misbehavior, not several.

Quietly, carefully, he led the fairy down corridors and stairs until they came to the back landing. A few stone steps into a lichen-licked depression in the floor, and they were at the back door leading directly into the heart of the garden. Otto led the way into the sunlight.

"Ah, so nice!" Felice exclaimed. Right away he whizzed his wings until he was high above his friend, zipping over the hedges and taking in the wonderful warmth of the summer sun. Up here, he could smell the rainbow of flowery scents in full. He felt his wings flushing out with strength again, and he twirled around and around, dancing on the tips of leaves like the butterflies.

"Felice! Get down! You don't want to catch attention!"

"Eh? Oh, right." He held his arms out to balance, then floated down as if slowly lowered by giant fingers. His shoes touched softly upon the stone walkway, and his wings folded down with grace.

But he wasn't one to quit. The warmth on his wings was an excellent motivator, and soon he was bounding through the hedge maze, feeling the softness of petals on his button nose and greeting every single bee he saw.

"This is even bigger than my mamma's garden! But the flowers aren't as big as hers. My big brother Lovi taught her some of his plant magic, and now the roses are huge!"

"Hm," said Otto. He wasn't much into flowery discussion and instead wrestled his arms out of his waistcoat. This was proving to be hotter than he liked.

The fairy began to sing. His voice stirred up piles of pollen that floated through the air in a cheerful golden cloud. It made Otto sneeze furiously, especially when a fuzzy bumblebee landed on his nose.

"I'm not good with plants," the fairy continued. "I'm good at swaying emotions, though. Like, em… this!" He ran up and down a perfect scale for a patch of thistles. Their purple crowns didn't change, but they stood up prouder and taller in the stifling heat. Otto, too, felt a little more complacent. He stopped wrenching up his sleeves and settled with what red marks the tight wrinkles of fabric left already.

He flinched for a second when Felice had left his vision. Then, he heard a huge gasp from one hedge over.

"Hey! Come see this! I thought it was a hummingbird, but quick, come look! Eh! It's flying away!"

"Don't run off. I don't want to get in trouble more today, though it would be far too much fun to stick my tongue out at Roderich while he kicks my shins."

He followed the sound of the fairy's voice until he came close to the edge of the flowerbeds. Here the stark, wrought-iron fence stood, separating garden from orchard. Felice pointed to a mound of perforated dirt almost as tall as he was, built up between the fence and a shady tree. Slowly, he crawled on hands and knees until he came to the mound, then burst into happy laughter.

"Wow! It's just like the ones at home!"

"What is?"

"It's a pixie colony!"

Otto looked on, but still hunched within the hedges like a wary cat. One side of the fairy's mound was tough and sturdy against the tree, while the other was mushy and made mostly of sand. Tiny creatures were flowing in and out of the holes. Felice snapped out and caught one, then let it sit in cupped hands.

"Come see this!"

"Bring it to me here. I won't go near the fence. My cousin really wouldn't like it if these shoes got dirty."

Felice shrugged, then brought his creature for Otto to see.

It was like a skinny little man, wearing a suit made of crinkled red leaves. His skin was the magenta of coneflower petals, and the wings on his back were like two drops of amethyst. He shook his spiky purple hair and grimaced.

"That's a pixie," Otto said. His mouth pressed into a line, as if bothered by the thing.

"It's a _dy," _Felice explained. "Pixie colonies are made up of _fy _and _dy, _and the Queen. _Fy _are light-colored and good-natured. They're like flower spirits. _Dy _are more naughty. They like the earth and mushrooms and things. But you'll always find both, or it's not a true colony."

"But why is there a pixie colony here at Edelweiss? There shouldn't be. If my cousin knew they were here, he'd destroy them."

Felice flinched. Dozens of pixies were perched on his hair and clothes, making him look bedazzled in purple and blue. Clawed _dy _crawled over his fingers while light-footed _fy _floated up to kiss his ears. Curious creatures swarmed around Otto as well, but he swatted them and darted back into the heart of the garden.

"Otto…? I thought you'd like the pixies. They're cute. Right? You guys are cute. But you know it's dangerous for you here. The master isn't very nice."

The first _dy _nodded, then pointed back at the mound. There, hundreds of _fy _and _dy _quickly assembled a blanket of leaves that covered the whole thing, making it look like a mossy stump.

"Eh, a disguise! That's cool! Stay safe, okay, little pixies? I'll visit you soon."

He left his new friends and returned to Otto, who was sulking and sweating on a bench before the grand bed of petunias.

"Are you too hot?"

"I'm melting," Otto groaned. "You complained about the heat earlier, and you're just fine out here."

"It _is _pretty hot. I guess I'm forgetting I have wings." With this, he fluttered and flapped them, making a mini breeze that swept over his friend. "That's a lot of flowers. Can we use them?"

"Use them for what? We're not allowed to eat them."

"You eat weird things," the fairy said. "No, I know what to do with those. There are so many. I don't think it will hurt."

He kneeled down and began pulling up petunias by the roots. Then, with a little grass and some dandelion stems, he tied and wove the pink-and-purple flowers into a colorful coronet, which he plopped on Otto's head.

"There! You're all pretty!"

"I don't want to be a fairy prince."

"Eh? Why would you be a fairy prince? You aren't a fairy or a prince, and fairy princes don't wear flowers. They wear gold crowns and suits—"

"It doesn't matter. I won't wear a flower crown."

"Yes you will! And I'll wear one too!"

So Otto slumped and sulked until Feliciano had pulled up a few square feet of petunias and woven them into another crown, a few bracelets, and a flowery sash that was soon brimming with bees.

"You're going to get stung," Otto grumbled.

"No I won't! Bees are friendly! They just want to smell the flowers too! They smell so good. Thanks for taking me out here again. I even forgot about that dumb music stuff I have to do tomorrow. Music isn't math and science. It's love and happiness and fun and—"

It was at this moment that a bee stung Felice right on the nose. He sneezed, then whimpered and curled in on himself, wings fluttering madly in pain.

"I told you. Let's get back inside. The gardener's going to come soon, and he'll fix the flowerbed before my cousin can even learn of its desecration. We don't want to get caught out here with the mess."

"Will you still wear the crown inside?"

"If you make me."

"Yeah! I will make you!"

Herr Edelstein had seen the whole desecration from an upstairs window. Shins were kicked and wings were pulled in due time, but Otto found the crown to be the superior punishment.

* * *

**Mischief at Midnight  
**_**for CoveTPeng**_

Sometimes, for unexplained reasons, Felice would find Otto curled up on his floor at night, sleeping on a pillow with a single quilt wrapped around him.

He always disappeared before morning. Back into his bedroom across the hall, with no trace of his midnight escapades, except for maybe a gift of chocolate or tissue paper — things Herr Edelstein used as "incentives" during music lessons, but rarely ever gave to the little fairy. Felice was even more confused. Was it a human custom to sleep on a friend's floor? To give secret gifts and expect nothing in return? The little fairy always asked Otto in the mornings why he went through such trouble, (and why he stayed in the room, goodness, the frights!) But all answers were cryptic and given without eye contact and hardly heard when Herr Edelstein was listening.

Felice was getting very tired of confusion. He'd long decided Edelweiss was a madhouse. A master who changed moods constantly. A duke who hardly behaved like one. A cruel old woman upstairs. A lady with a troubled past, under the spell of an ostrich. How could a fairy be any more odd? Why did he have to do all the chores around the place? Otto was the one whining and screeching whenever Edelstein was in a foul mood.

A bit of movement. Coming from the closet. Felice lay absolutely still as he hunched within his blankets. Tonight's dinner had been particularly bland and awful. Potatoes and dense bread and not much else. It was too dense for him, and he'd lain with a stomachache ever since coming to bed. Was this that shrouded hour of the midnight guest?

He waited, but the door never opened. Instead, the scratching in his closet continued, until a dark board popped up, and Otto crawled, dusty and spluttering, out of the floor. He dragged his pillow and blanket behind him and plopped down to curl up on the floor at the foot of the fairy's bed.

"Is my floor warmer or something?"

"Can't sleep," Otto mumbled. Then he popped up, shivering and taking in the sight of a very _awake _Felice. "Oh! Em… did I wake you?"

"No, I've been awake. Struggling to digest human food again. Can you please tell me why you keep sleeping in here? Herr Edelstein's not around."

The poor boy had been caught. No use being cryptic now. "Better ventilation," he said. "My room's nice, but sometimes, when my cousin is brooding, he'll light a bunch of candles downstairs, and the smoke ends up in my room. This one's much cleaner."

"But why _this _room?"

"It used to be an empty room, and I'm a man of habits."

"But not a gentleman. You keep scaring me. I find candy under my pillow like you're stalking me or something."

Otto scoffed. "I thought you'd like it. My cousin has done nothing but eye you with contempt since the day you arrived."

"I thought you liked that."

"Well, it backfired. He doesn't torment me any less. He just has another person to torment now. We're _two _good-for-nothings in this house instead of just one. And I'm the one who gets sick and whiny easier, so he yells at me more. You're just an all-around burden to him."

Felice gasped. "But that's just what he thinks! You don't think like that, right? We're good kids! You're a good kid! You're _weird, _but you give me candy, at least. I like you, Otto. I thought we were friends."

Otto gave a little smile, then cuddled into his pillow again. "Thank you for being kind. It's really hard for a person like me to have friends."

"A place like Edelweiss needs kindness. It needs better food, too."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Pasta!"

"Is that tough to make?"

"Not at all! It's only flour and eggs and some salt and olive oil! The same things that go into cake!"

"Then let's go make some. Right now."

"Now!?"

Before Felice knew it, Otto had torn him out of bed and marched him downstairs to the shadowy kitchen, where he crawled up on the countertops to fetch ingredients. Flour. (He spilled some.) Eggs. (He dropped some.) Olive oil. (The bottle slipped out of his hands, and Felice barely saved it from shattering on the floor.)

"You could've just let me get them. I can fly."

Otto winced. "I'm so used to crawling up on the counter. Now what do we do?"

The fairy ducked low, ears pricking at the sound of tinkling keys and a somber melody streaming out from the receiving room. Edelstein was awake! And no doubt he'd come in here for a midnight snack after his passionate drivel. Swiftly, Felice flapped his wings until the cloud of flour Otto had spilled swept itself away into the corners of the baseboard.

"I don't think we should be down here," he whispered. "We're not the only ones."

"I know. But he's only started. A sonata can last for hours sometimes. Let's make your pasta."

"A-all right, but I really don't want to get caught!"

"I'll take the blow for you. Don't worry. Now, do we mix this stuff together?"

"Eh… usually I do it on the counter, but let's use a bowl so we don't make a mess."

Felice flew up and opened the cupboards until he found a mixing bowl. Down on the floor, he showed Otto how to pile up the flour, then make a well in the middle for the eggs and slowly mix them together from the inside rim to the outside. This proved a delightful task for Otto. His blue eyes sparkled with the idea of getting messy, and soon his hands were all squishy and sticky with dough. He'd formed the perfect ball in no time, and when Felice instructed him to knead and fold it, he became a quick expert. In went the salt and the olive oil, and messier Otto's hands became.

"Yay! You learn so fast! Now we let it sit for a while."

"Sit? Why? I don't like waiting."

"It has to settle. Gel together. Where's your icebox?"

Otto showed him, but not before he ripped off a chunk of pasta dough and chewed on it.

A dark shadow fell across the kitchen floor, and Felice realized too late the sparkling spots cast around the room from moonlight reflecting off his wings. He folded them down and crawled quickly as he could to where Otto hid in the undersink cabinet.

The boy duke sat statue-still, almost as if the blood in his veins had quit flowing altogether. His chest never moved. No air entered nor left his lungs. He only stared at the crack between cabinet doors with his large, shining eyes. Like Edelstein's eyes, Otto's were dark with presence. There was something in them that Felice couldn't look at for long, lest an odd, primal, emotional sensation ball up in his throat and repel him. It wasn't _bad, _just… _wrong. _Like his total opposite. A wicked complement. High where Felice was low. Powerful where he was powerless. An estranged energy.

_Dark magic, _Felice knew, but he dare not say it aloud. _That fairy blood in you is dark… I can feel it. _

Right outside, Edelstein muttered to himself, the way a madman might when considering his life. "Eliza" was uttered. And at one point, so was "Gigi."

"My papà?" Felice whispered. Otto's hand was on his mouth in the fraction of a second, and those large dark eyes were trained on his face.

"What… flour? Who left this out?"

The fairy's wings quivered, cramped by the tight space.

"Oh, it was probably me. There should be more in here, though. Did I make two batches of cake or three?"

The icebox was opened. Felice sucked in his breath, then craned his neck to see between the doors of the cupboard. He saw Edelstein, in his nightgown, rifling between the contents. They'd shoved the pasta ball to the very back, but it was still quite large and moist. Those spidery fingers would feel it!

Wings fluttered harder. Otto elbowed Felice's side, and he squeaked.

Edelstein brought out the cake platter. He gave a mournful look at the lonely last slice, then put it back where he'd found it and slammed the door so hard the whole box rattled.

"What are you doing? Sneaking cake just like when you were that _freak _of a child? It brings no comfort in the end. You'll only regret it in the morning. Let's not forget you cursed your own uncle within an inch of his life over a slice of _cake._"

"He's a cakeaholic?"

Otto grinned and raised his eyebrows in a "Yes."

"My father a vulture. My mother a crane. And they hatched an _ostrich._ Even if I don't eat my feelings, I'm not even handsome. She only sees me as a project. There's no way she even remotely likes me. Ooh…"

And so he left the kitchen cakeless and no happier than before. Otto and Felice waited for a few minutes, then scrambled out to retrieve their dough ball.

"Can we just eat it?" Otto asked.

"No. We have to cook it. Get some water in a pot."

Otto did so while Felice rolled out the dough ball and cut it into strips. These he dropped into the pot.

"Okay, Otto. Hold the edges with pot holders. We're not allowed to use the stove, so I'm going to heat up the pot with magic. Are you ready?"

Otto nodded.

Felice stood back, wings fluttering and fingers wiggling. He closed his eyes, then hummed a little melody he'd made up to keep warm during the winter months. He twirled and flapped while his throat tingled with warmth. Oh, this felt so so _good! _When was the last time he used magic without that nasty potion of sulfur killing every spark?

In minutes, the water in Otto's pot steamed. Then a bubble broke on the surface, and another, and another. The water was excited, bubbling and boiling with the most cheerful sound in the little fairy's life. Otto coughed a bit from the hot steam in his face, so Felice took the pot from him, continuing to sing until the pasta strips were all bloated with moisture and ready to eat.

"Aw, this stuff will just taste as bland as everything else without any sauce!"

"But it's your favorite," Otto said.

"I guess you're right. Thank you, Otto. This was really nice of you. I'd never be brave enough to come down here alone."

"You said we are friends," Otto said, as if utterly baffled by the concept. "I liked making mischief with you, too."

"Mischief? Was this mischief?"

"I felt it in my blood. It was true mischief."

Felice cocked his head at this, but Otto told him not to worry about it. Instead, he finished gorging his portion of pasta, then put the pot away and led Felice back upstairs.

"Are you going to sleep in my room again? To get away from the smoke?"

"Just until morning. You won't mind, right?"

"No. As long as you're comfortable… and you don't get up in bed with me."

"_Smoke?" _

A dark figure stood out in the hallway. Whether Roderich or Ilse, the boys could not be sure. They scrambled into the room and dove into bed before the shadow could pursue them and lay with thundering hearts for hours after.

But no matter what fate awaited them in the morning, each was filled with the pleasure of pasta and the jittery feeling of friendship in his heart.

* * *

**Cupcake Capers  
**_**for Cat on the table**_

Otto claimed he was a master of disguise, but when all was said and done, Felice looked like a potato sack.

Gone were the shaped trousers and the shirt of a flowy material. In came the button-down and waistcoat with holes bitten in the back. Wings were concealed beneath an overcoat that at best rendered them lumps. Shoes sized for a toddler were stowed away and replaced by a larger pair, stuffed with cotton and balled-up paper. And the pointed ears? Why, they were crudely taped into folds.

"These clothes are so heavy. How do you move around in them?" Felice asked.

"They aren't heavy to me. I've got thicker bones, and my feet aren't baby-sized. I don't know how those stick-thin ankles keep you on the ground."

The fairy pouted at this, but quickly went back to twitching his wings under the heavy coat. The ear tape was sticking in his hair. He tried to separate the strands, and the whole ear popped up again.

"You said you didn't want people staring at you."

"Well, yeah. I don't want to make Herr Edelstein uneasy. He said I'm supposed to act human while I'm living here. I don't know how to act human, but maybe I can look human."

Otto shrugged. "Then you're acting the part. Lying about who you are is a very _human _concept. Now, don't make eye contact, don't hop when you're walking, and certainly don't say hello to people in the street. You'll pass as human. Only thing I'd say is your face is too pretty for a boy."

"Eh!? I've never gotten that impression!" He said, kneading his cheeks. "It's not a _perfect _complexion. I think I — yeah, I've still got that lump on my head where one of my antennae used to be. I was born with them, and they fell off when I was a week old, but one stump didn't dry up like it was supposed to—"

"You can't tell every human you meet about your antenna stump. Just get comfortable and let's get to town. I'm starving. I want cake or something."

So Felice finished fidgeting and laced the borrowed shoes as tight as he could — still too loose! Then he and Otto tromped down the stairs to the entryway, where Herr Edelstein was waiting.

"What's this? Why is he wearing your clothes?"

"Felice wants to be human," Otto said.

"For a day!" The fairy squeaked when he caught the disapproving glare.

"Am I going to find bite marks in the back of that shirt?"

"Maybe," Otto said.

"_Menace,"_ the master muttered.

Onward to Birngarten. Autumn colors had taken the alpine landscape and turned it into a fiery palette of oranges and smokey grays. Felice enjoyed the warmth the coat could give, but his wings were all stiff and stuck beneath the fabric. Fairy dust was chafing and sticking to his skin like a glittery sweat.

"We must run some errands. I'd have Darleen do them, but some stinking imp's snatched her nephew, and now she's in Thajos for a funeral without a body. First we'll go to the apothecary," Edelstein explained.

"To see his girlfriend," Otto told Felice.

The ostrich man didn't care to refute it.

The children lagged behind the infamous Roderich Edelstein for as long as they could. Felice feared he was receiving stares, but Otto explained it was more Roderich who attracted attention, "being a disturbed orphan and all." Roderich slipped Otto a few choice curses for disclosing that information, and the younger boy only held his chin higher.

Eventually, the two grew tired of waiting for Roderich to end his conversation with Eliza at the apothecary — a heated talk about echinacea and its uses. This was "society talk," Otto said. Neither Rod nor Eliza would address their feelings directly, and so they "shot the breeze." Hands were examined. Hair was twisted. Necklaces and rings were played with. Eye contact was made, then broken again. Faces were made. Faces were softened.

"He should tell her about Bach," Felice said.

Otto wheezed.

"Are you still hungry? We should ask if we can find a cake for you."

"Oh, I already know where we can get some cake. Just follow me."

"Wait! Eh…"

Otto had already flown out the door, leaving Felice alone. To his left was Roderich Edelstein, engaged in meaningful meaningless conversation, and to his right was rule-breaking and antics and a promise of cake.

He was a bit hungry.

Otto wasn't difficult to find. A young boy with silver-buckled shoes and shiny blond hair all curled and combed back stood out in a crowd. (Although Otto's was only an _attempt _to recreate the noble look. No one had lived to teach it to him.)

Next to him, Felice looked like a raggedy kid in the best hand-me-downs soap could clean. A "country girl to show around town," Otto teased. Felice pouted and tried to slap him on the shoulder, but his hands were "so dainty they felt like a butterfly's wing," and so the fairy was ultimately defeated by Ducal Cheek.

"This is what I meant," Otto said, pointing to a low building in a completely different part of town than the sketchy green apothecary. Its windows boasted pastel curtains that rudely complemented the autumn tones outside. The boy duke pressed his face up against the glass and wiggled like an excited dog. Within were cakes. Big cakes. Small cakes. Layer cakes and fruit cakes. Kuchen and Torte.

"Wow, those look so fancy! We don't have anything like that in Allegria. I can already taste the sugar!"

"Indeed! They're not as good as the ones my cousin bakes, but they are excellent. Especially the ones with buttercream. Or maybe the ganache. One of those is my favorite. Or even both," Otto said, patting his grumbling stomach. Then he fell completely out of his typical faux-gentleman posture and went about wiggling his hips like a kid. Fingers curled into beastly claws, and the wild child was on his way into the cake shop to taste what wonders lay within.

The place was steeped in sugary sweetness. Felice felt a little heavier just standing on the pink shag doormat — not that fairies knew what heaviness felt like. He pushed up his sleeves and eyed the frosted creations just ready to be boxed up and enjoyed. Otto was eyeing them too… and eating them.

"Otto! What are you doing!? You can't just take those!"

Otto was over at a table where a large spread of purple-flowered and sugar-glazed cupcakes sat idle. One by one, with no grace or pretense, he stuffed them in his mouth and spat the wrappers into his hand. He'd swallowed a baker's dozen before the little fairy grabbed his arms and tried desperately to pull him back from the table.

"Relax, Feli!"

"No, Otto! You can't take anything!"

"What's wrong with you? I always take these ones. Get your measly insect arms off," Otto said before managing to stuff two cupcakes in his mouth at once. He swallowed them wrappers and all, and Felice winced when he saw the strange bulge in Otto's neck at the action.

"There's no one around… maybe just one…" the fairy said. He picked up a cupcake and licked the frosting. Somehow purple tasted _purple!_ All sweet and fruity, like cool blueberries had been whipped up into a delightful cream. Felice licked the whole crown before biting into the fluffy warmth of the cake itself. The batter had also been infused with blueberry juice. Beneath the overcoat, his wings twitched and tried to flitter.

"You're eating it wrong. You have to eat the cake and frosting _together. _Like this," Otto said, stuffing another cupcake right between his teeth. The young duke had frosting smeared all over his fingers and lips, and his jabot was littered with crumbs.

Felice refused to eat another, so Otto went ahead and finished off the spread. At least thirty cupcakes disappeared into his stomach. And the boy wasn't green in the least!

"You'll get sick from all those. Just one was enough for me!"

"My stomach is bigger than yours."

"Your cousin's is even bigger!"

"Don't tell him that. I hear him grumbling at night about how he's starting to get squishy around the middle."

"Really? I think he looks fine in the waistcoat."

"You wait 'til you find him sewing a button back on."

"You mean humans can outgrow their clothes just by eating too much!? I always thought that picture of Herr Edelstein's father was a fake! He was so _round!"_

Otto produced a wistful smirk. "Ulrich really was that round."

On one of the table's chairs was another box of cupcakes. Instantly, Otto was ripping into them, body quivering and hands shaking with cakey greed.

"No," Felice said.

"What? Just a few more. They're so good!"

Felice grabbed the boy around the middle and this time wrenched him backwards so hard he flew over into another table, knocking a cake box to the floor. A dark chocolate cake smothered with ganache rolled out. Otto bent down and took a bit to taste the goodness.

"First, you're gonna be really sick tonight. Second, you're probably cursed."

"Why would I be cursed?"

"_Because, _Otto!" Felice whined in a way that sent shivers down Otto's spine. That magic voice… it was too powerful. The boy duke licked his fingers and got up off the floor immediately, backing away from the mess. "If you take something, you have to give something back! You have to pay for all those cupcakes now, or at least do _something, _because if you don't, part of yourself will be lost, too! If you have nothing to give, then those cupcakes will have part of your soul!"

Otto crinkled his nose. "But they're free cupcakes. The ones on that table are always free."

"Free…?"

"Yeah… free… you don't have to pay for them or sign your soul away. Seriously, Felice. Just when I think our cultures aren't that different, you believe in soul-signing?"

"Em… kinda? It's more like… gifts have power. If you receive, you have to give, or you'll be in debt to the world. It's a traditional Allegrian belief. I don't know how much people believe in it anymore, but my family is very traditional because of the music caster blood, so we do all the nature rituals, and the rain dances, and we sing to the plants. Although I don't know how to hear the voice of nature. I don't even think it exists. My grandpa just said he sang to the clouds because they sang to him, but I never heard them singing—"

"Free cupcakes, Felice. It's a done deal. I'm just disappointed I ate most of them."

"You ate all of them! How do you _do _that!? _You're _going to get squishy like your cousin!"

Otto burst into laughter. He crossed his arms and backed up until he fell into a certain burgeoning squishiness… Turning around, he saw Roderich, along with Eliza. One was cross, and the other strangely humored.

The cake baker came in, astounded by the empty cupcake table. He then took a peek at the upset cake on the floor and became quite upset himself.

"What? You kids ate all those cupcakes and tried to eat that cake, too!?"

"I'm very sorry!" Felice exclaimed. He untaped his ears and took off the overcoat to reveal his glittery wings. "I'm sorry I ate a cupcake! What can I do to make it up to you? I'm a fairy! I can sing for you! Or I could help make more cupcakes!"

The baker's eyes went wide at the sight of a little fairy spreading glittery dust all over the floor of his shop. A fairy, right here in Birngarten! Not unusual for the family that included the disturbed wizard orphan Roderich Edelstein and his cousin, the wretched boy Duke of Liutberht. Act natural! No offense! The cupcakes would be free again this week…

"Those were free cupcakes for customers to sample… I was just bringing another batch out. You don't have to pay me for eating one!" The baker chuckled.

"But that's not fair! If it's a gift, I have to give one back!"

"Did you like it?"

"Eh? Oh, yes, I did like it! It was so delicious! It was the best cupcake ever!"

"Then the debt is paid. I like hearing happy customers."

"Even if _this one _ate the rest of the cupcakes?" Herr Edelstein growled, gripping Otto's shoulders tightly between spindly white fingers. The boy duke squirmed under the hold. He was pale, and his blue eyes were narrowed at the ground. He took in a few quick, shallow breaths, then steadied himself, wiping frosting off his lips with his sleeve.

"He can pick up the mess," Eliza suggested. "Though I doubt Otto could really eat that many cupcakes."

"There weren't that many," Otto said.

"Really?" Edelstein asked, gripping tighter.

"Really… but… ooh, I feel sick now. We must go home. Eliza, can you give me something for my stomach?"

He doubled over and leaned closer to the woman, who petted his hair, but refused to let her face soften.

"Help this man clean up the cake first, and then we'll get you something."

Felice had already done so.

* * *

**A Toothy Tale  
**_**for Animetronic**_

Felice had never swum in a river before.

Otto never knew winged fairies could swim at all until the other explained it to him. Wings were certainly waterproof. Washing them frequently was an integral part of their care — especially once a fairy got older and his wings started producing more and more greasy glitter. And so swimming did no harm at all to a fairy's wellbeing. It was the same fun any young human could have.

"I've only swum in the sea before. My mamma taught me. She grew up on a seasalt farm, so she's great at swimming."

"Well, I'm not that great at swimming, but it's been so hot, the creek's slow and gentle, isn't it?"

"Yeah!"

This the fairy exclaimed before thrusting his arms forward and making a wave splash all over Otto. The mountain creek was just cool enough to make him shiver when the silvery droplets pricked his skin. He closed his eyes and laughed, then splashed the fairy back, earning a high-pitched squeal.

On the bank sat Eliza, trying to knit something with a ball of cotton. It was going to be a vest, right? Maybe not with all those dropped stitches. Sighing, she tugged out the twisted yarn and settled on a scarf. Something to keep that ostrich nose from getting cold and red in the winter.

How nice of Roderich to ask her to "get that absolute menace and the squeaky freak out of the house." She rather liked spending time with the children, disturbing as Otto's behavior could get. She thought a day in the orchard might be nice, but that was off-limits, and so she brought them to the creek, where Otto immediately stripped off all his clothes and waded out into the muddy water to splash about like a sea monster.

Felice whizzed his wings, sending a torrent of droplets spraying all over the boy duke. Otto retaliated by diving down and scooping up a mud pie, which he whipped at the back of the fairy's head. The fairy was willing to get dirty, so he sucked in his breath, then popped under the surface to scoop up his own glob of mud. But when he came up again, Otto had disappeared. The fairy waited, but no mud ball attack came.

Then he screeched. Otto's arms had wrapped around his stomach, and he was dunked back into the green haze of the water. He flailed his arms and flapped his wings until the other boy was forced to let go. Then he coughed and spluttered and moaned, paddling until he could halfway pull himself up on a rock. His wings fluttered to dry, splattering Eliza and her work. The woman slumped her shoulders. Maybe she should get to darning up the holes Otto kept tearing in his socks.

"I said no rough play!" She shouted at Otto, who had emerged from the water and was laughing like a kraken, blue eyes sparkling with their own brand of mischief. Felice continued to moan, until Eliza set down her needles and went to retrieve him. At least the fairy boy was still wearing underwear. The nerve of that little duke sometimes…

"I was just playing!" Otto whined.

"You need to think about how you're playing. Feli didn't want to be surprised, did you, bug?"

Felice shook his head, whimpering.

Eliza gave him a pat. "You're fine. Otto, finish your splashing. There's zucchini at home I can make."

"Zucchini? Blech!"

"That's what your cousin said, too, but you're both eating it, or I'm going to lock you both in your rooms until you do."

"I hope you don't marry him! 'Cause then we could never have cake!"

"Could you please cut the zucchini like pasta?" Felice asked.

"Just for you I will, bug. HERMANN OTTO!"

Otto was floating on his back just to spite her. This was all good fun until a turtle with two white, knifelike fangs swam up to bite his left arm. He screamed and cried and floundered all the way to the edge of the creek, where he hauled himself up just like Felice. Eliza slapped him a towel and dry clothes, then tied another towel tightly around the wound.

He whimpered terribly all the way back to Edelweiss. Even Felice was stunned the boy duke was capable of such fuss. His eyes were puffy, his skin was all muddy, and his blond hair was all twisted into knots by the time he was hauled into the front entryway and rushed up the stairs to take a bath. Felice followed; he was smelly in his own right from the sediment. A good scrub of soap all along his hair and wings, and he'd be the soft, shiny fairy he always was. The two waited for Eliza to come back with some proper bandages and ointment.

"That was super fun, Otto! We have to thank Miss Eliza for taking us swimming. I liked it better than staying inside with Herr Edelstein all day."

Otto just moaned, sitting on the edge of the tub. His injured arm bounced up and down.

"What _was _that thing? A turtle?"

"_Wohe," _Otto mumbled. "A fanged turtle. They live in the river and bite naughty children."

Felice giggled. "Then you know you were naughty!"

"Why aren't you upset anymore? You were all snot-faced when you crawled out of the river, and now you're laughing again."

"Because when one fun thing ends, you can always look forward to another! We swam, and now I get pasta! Well, kind of pasta."

"Hey… Felice… can you go ask Eliza if she can make just a little cake with that? She'll say no, but maybe she'll say no less if it's you asking. Please? Right now? I need to know before I take my bath. Otherwise I'll be thinking about it the whole time. I'm hungry already."

His stomach gurgled, proving his point.

"Eh, okay. I can do that. I'll be quick!"

"Take the time you need. This is very important."

As soon as Felice had left the room, Otto tore off the towel around his arm. His heart nearly stopped. Except for a smear of blood and the crust of discarded scabs, the soft, pale skin was flawless. No punctures. No tears. Not even a scratch.

He let out a shaky breath, then peered out into the hallway to make sure absolutely no one was coming. Then he closed the bathroom door and went to the tub. The arm he ran under some clean water, to wash off the blood. Now the skin was even cleaner. Even more perfect.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Dirty. Disheveled. But otherwise normal. Normal for a seven-year-old boy? He had no way of knowing. His body had grown so much without his control, but sometimes he had to hold back. Stay smaller. Keep up with expectations. Starve for an hour, if he had to. Felice was no fair gauge of size. He was a _fairy, _with _antenna stumps, _who grew and developed on a completely different timescale. But he worked somewhat. He brought peace of mind, somewhat. He was a wellspring of love, somewhat.

Otto groaned. His stomach was eating itself, and zucchini wouldn't cut it. He needed sugar. So much sugar. And the more he thought about it, the more he could feel his insides churning like slimy gears, grinding his energy into meaningless dust until he was all tired and weak and sick again. Sick enough for Roderich to kick him and send him dirty looks when Eliza wasn't there.

It didn't matter, he told himself. He had to act like the suspicions weren't brewing up all around. He didn't even remember what he was supposed to look like. He'd always been this. His name was Otto. He was the Duke of Liutberht, cousin to Roderich of Edelweiss…

As long as he kept up the act, there would _be _a Duke of Liutberht.

A light pounding in the hallway, like a butterfly's footsteps. Otto jerked. His arm! It was healed! What had happened? A scrape? A bite? A fanged turtle bite! Fangs!

Otto's canine teeth lengthened and sharpened into fangs. He found the place of the phantom wound, then bit down, hard, until blood spattered the floor and his whole mouth went warm. He whipped around and spat into the bathtub. The pain was intense — more intense than the turtle's bite. Quickly, he switched on the faucet and gulped in mouthfuls of water, coughing and spitting down the drain.

The creaking of the door flooded his veins with ice, until he remembered he'd already bitten himself again. Felice came in, with Eliza behind him. The latter seized Otto's wounded arm and thrust it under the cold faucet, scrubbing it until it washed clean and pressing until the blood was slowed. Otto just whined and whined all the way until his arm was slathered in ointment and bandaged.

"You strip down and keep that out of the tub while you take your bath, okay? God, child, how do you _do_ this to yourself!?"

Otto's eyes widened, then closed. It wasn't a literal question.

He sat through his bubble bath while Felice chattered at him, waiting for his own. The wound tingled and prickled under the bandage — healing again. And steadily he grew hungrier and hungrier, cursing the vile woman for denying him cake. He'd thought her a suitable mother figure, but she was far too harsh sometimes.

"Hey… Otto?"

"Yeah, sprite?"

"I saw those fangs. I know why you have to keep secrets now. Are you a monster?"

"Shut the hell up right now, and never ask that again."

"But _are_ you a monster? I won't tell anyone. I'm your friend. Please. I'm a fairy. I can sense energies humans can't. There's something dark in you."

"I'm… I'm... " He stuttered for an instant, then snapped his fingers in front of the fairy's face. "You saw nothing."

Felice's eyes went blank for a second. Then he shook his head and looked on, confused.

"Are you done soaking soon? I want to soak so I can have pasta!"

There was still a Duke of Liutberht.

* * *

**Roderich and the Ring  
**_**for Syntax-N **_

It was a bit of spring cleaning in the middle of the night.

The Black Study of Ulrich Edelstein had swollen with dust long before his soul was encased in stone. And now, many years after, the mounds of gray and stagnant fuzz upon the mantle had grown impressive. Books of dark spines and yellowed pages lay entombed forever by the pressure of their fellows on the shelves. Smoke stained the ceiling. Brass candleholders stood tall and tarnished on each edge of the bureau. One of these was completely unusable — a candle had melted right into the dirty metal, and no amount of burning or digging could relieve it.

Roderich Edelstein, living son of the late Ulrich, trailed his spidery fingers over the mantle and grimaced at how white they looked against the lightning of the outside storm. He would not sleep. Between worries and nightmares, he was locked in midnight limbo — the same old, shadowy friend of his youth. He dared not enter the Black Study at this hour, but all the same, it drew him in. It was like that sometimes. Some dark and welcoming energy pleased his senses and pulled him to the smokey, sulfury room, where he would relive the horrors of his past in perfect clarity, and emerge stronger as a result.

Lightning flashed in Roderich's purple eyes, and the resulting thunder split the atmosphere with the force of some imagined god. He dared not tremble, in case his father were watching. Instead, he resumed dusting the shelves with a blackened rag. Each warped floorboard and ash-bitten prong of the fire grate was earnestly wiped. The glass vials of grease and sulfur were sorted, then replaced on their forgotten shelf. Here, he found another box of homemade candles. There, a chest of bottles filled with tar. And in one drawer under the bureau, he found a collection of skulls — humanoid in appearance, but with sharp cheekbones and jaws full of fangs.

Twice he thought the fire flared to life behind him before sputtering out again. Once, he heard some phantom cry from a tome on the lowest shelf. The skulls seemed to watch him from where he set them on the bureau — hollow eyes forever tuned to the flames that carved them.

"This is unnatural," the master muttered, hands shaking more every minute. "How could he live with this place? Claiming he was the truest working man and cheating the world from behind with this blasphemy? He was an utter fool. Why does he hold ultimate control over my mind?"

A faded daguerreotype stood on the bureau — the Edelsteins, with Ulrich and Gertrude and their children spaced between them, an eight-year-old Roderich in the middle.

"Dark circles under his eyes. Too skinny. Shaking at everything. Wretched child," he remarked, and he was surprised how easy it was to pass judgment. "But I'm grown up now. I'm not some snively little boy afraid of the imps in his closet. I can take care of myself perfectly fine."

He sat himself at the bureau and opened the top drawer, containing his father's wands. They all rolled forward, eager for cleaning. Roderich took them out one by one and prepared to polish them, just as he'd seen his father do so many years ago. In a fluid motion, his left hand searched the drawer for more wands and brushed up against something small. He pulled it out and found it was a _ring_ — a single, silver band with a colorless crystal.

Roderich remembered this ring. His mother had sometimes worn it on special occasions. But to find it here in the Black Study, it must have been a dark artifact. Even now, under the flashes of lightning, it called out to Roderich with a voice of misty silk.

_**I am a thing of destiny from the place called Drizendorn,  
**__**And those who think of wearing me will see themselves reborn~**_

Roderich snorted. The so-called Fortune-Telling Ring that could show the wearer his destiny. Roderich needed no such thing. To ruthless fire or brittle ice he would fall, and he hoped it was ice. He would never become what he was not. He was an artist. A musician. A man of graceful limbs and a view into the world of directionless nonsense. Some part of him absolutely hated this, but to please his _father _was a disgusting thought…

_It's too hard to express that softer part of yourself… too late… too embarrassing… You've assumed command of the household. What an accomplishment! _

_Would _he please his father? Or would he even… _surpass _him?

Roderich slipped off the iron band he'd worn since Liutberht and replaced it with the Ring of Destiny. The metal squeezed hungrily around his finger, and he felt some phantom tooth prick his skin. A bead of blood dyed the crystal crimson before it lightened to a hideous green.

_**I create a quick Elixir for the wisher well to see  
**__**In days or months or years to come, who he will come to be~**_

The voice drowned out the rest of the storm, and Roderich felt himself dipping lower and lower. His heart was racing. The fire flickered and flared in the ghostly grate, and the fairy skulls gnashed their teeth. But Roderich was focused well on the image of his father in his mind. Ulrich, who had called him weak, useless, fed him potions that would not cure and draughts that made him sicker. Ulrich, who never believed in Roderich, who named him heir only to spite his living relatives, who called him a cursed son, a tainted son… Ulrich, who saw the truth.

Thin lips pressed to the crystal, and Roderich drank in the Elixir of Destiny. His mind seemed to split. One side cowered under the prospect of the future. He would _never _prove his father any different. He was still too thin, still sick and worrisome. But the other side swelled like an eagle. He _would _become ruthless. In fact, he was _meant _to. It was his _birthright _and his _divine fate—_

"Geh!"

Roderich gasped. His heart was racing even faster, fluttering in his chest at a dangerous speed. Power was creeping steadily through his veins — a tingly sensation that loosened his muscles and seemed to melt his bones where he stood. He fell back in the chair, sliding backwards until his shoulders cracked on the back wall. He felt hot. Steamy. Sweat was pouring off his skin and splattering in hissing puddles upon the floor. Parts of his body seized up and vibrated. His hands began to shake uncontrollably.

Then came the feeling in his stomach.

The cramp came like a crash of thunder. He felt his insides gurgling and bubbling like he'd poisoned himself. Something was brewing up inside, changing, like the magic Elixir were actually working to make him stronger. Yes, so _right! _Roderich clenched his teeth. That ruthless part of him had been waiting for this.

The churning intensified. Trembling hands reached down to feel along his middle. The flesh quivered beneath the waistcoat at his touch. A peculiar _fullness _was centering deep within. A fullness that was spreading and pressing outward, quickly becoming a heaviness.

A loud, bubbly groan, and the surface of his stomach began to undulate, swelling and expanding right into his hands. His breathing quickened. Trousers and waistcoat were growing tight. He gasped when he saw the bulge traveling down his torso like a gelatinous slug were growing in his belly. No, that _was _his belly. He was growing fatter. The fizzing pressure within was filling him out in every direction, beginning with his belly, then working down to his legs and swelling out his arms.

He poked the soft new flesh, fascinated. "I'm… I'm not thin and sickly anymore. I'm growing into who I'm meant to be!"

He forced himself out of the chair, letting out a pained groan. The gurgling pressure intensified as doughy flesh spilled out the bottom of his shirt. This was absolute madness. Any other night, he'd scorn this kind of cake-induced nightmare, but if this were his _destiny, _to be free of the ostrichy constraints and grow to have such a domineering presence…

The tingly feeling returned, prickling in his bones, which grew firmer and stronger. His heart grew in his chest and steadied its pulse — no more of that irregular nonsense. Muscles all balanced, pulsating under his skin with a pleasurable warmth.

"I told you! I told you I wouldn't be like this forever! I will surpass you! Ach!"

He seized his arms, a writhing itch taking place beneath his shirtsleeves. One look at shaking hands exposed the strange new development. They were bloating with the same squelchy vigor as the rest of his body, but the skin was darkening into an angry peach. The tiny wrinkles swelled out, then retracted into a foreign set, all while the snakey veins pulsed and popped from his skin. Fingernails were broadening, then cracking at the edges like they hadn't been groomed in weeks. A tear in the sleeve finally forced a view at his arms. Deep patches of hair were cropping up, covering the whole of the growing limbs as they crackled and stretched.

There was one last heave of change. The gurgling of before was now a low, liquidy rumbling beneath mounds of squish. His body swelled enough for the waistcoat to snap a button before settling in its size with an audible _glunk_. He made out the skin of his belly and arms continuing to tan and take on a more leathery texture. Was it _aging? _

This was surely an instance of his future self. The aching in his feet had to be more from age than from their sudden, mushrooming growth. A certain pain in his back was acting up, too. The spine cracked and bulged from the skin before sinking. Shoulders snapped like twigs and pulled apart, broadening. Puffy hands traveled up to his neck, then to his face. A painful pulse slithered up through his chest. Everything was bloating. Neck thickened. Face swelled and sagged. His nose drew in a bit, curling into a squat, vulturish hook. His neck was riddled with stubble that pricked his fingers. His hair was drier and shaggier.

The horror ceased altogether, then. Roderich took a few deep breaths, then examined himself in full. He wasn't grossly large like his uncle Albert, but there was a respectable amount of pudge bulging about his frame. Enough to warrant a bigger set of clothes. His hands weren't the thin, spidery piano-playing ones he remembered, but strong, large, useful for gesturing and pointing and seizing and forcing things…

"This is… " Roderich voiced. His voice was deeper, a bit gravelly from the smoke in his lungs. His vision had dimmed, but the spectacles fit much better on his nose now. "No, this… I… it can't be. I've transformed into…"

Lightning flashed, and he saw his outline in the glass of the picture frame.

He was Ulrich Edelstein, and he was ruthless.

"I'm… you. I… This can't be my destiny. Becoming my father? I don't want this. Change me into something else. I won't have it! I won't be him!"

But he'd wanted this so much. That ruthless side of Roderich's brain, the side which had tried and failed before to squash the other, finally found the strength to rip out of its cage and seize full control. No more of this rebellion. Stop resisting and accept the truth. The original Ulrich was right all along. If one had the power, he'd use it. That was human. That was natural.

He ignored the protests from that flowery, cake-eating, musical _romantic _pleading for his _Eliza _who wanted him to _change _and _love his weaknesses_, and he stormed out of the Black Study. Out of the haze of dreams and into the real world. He felt incredible. Reborn into his true self, his _destiny._

But the transformation was incomplete. A piece of the old Roderich still remained. Weak, childish, sniveling, and in every way _impish. _How could he allow such a thing to live in Edelweiss right under his nose? He could put it in its place, but how long would that last? No, imps were hardy creatures. They could survive torment as long as they had something to cling to. They had to be destroyed.

He would destroy the last shreds of his weakness and become who he was meant to be.

He tromped downstairs — no more of that hapless trundling, and entered the main study. Up on a high shelf was a ring box, and within, an iron band with a cross engraved in the bezel. The master seized the ring in its box, then tromped back up the stairs, to the bedroom at the center of the second floor.

"Boy. Wake up."

The boy stirred in bed, then poked his pale face up out of the covers. His gaze narrowed at the sight of Roderich in his nightgown. Long fingers fiddled with a ring box like a spider wrapping its prey in silk.

"What do you want, cousin? It has to be after midnight."

"I have something for you. It's a present."

He came around and opened the ring box, setting it on Otto's nightstand. Otto recoiled, ducking his head and refusing to look at the thing.

"It's the ring your father wore as the Duke of Liutberht. It's rightfully yours now, and I think you're old enough to take care of it."

"Thanks, but I don't want it right now. I'm only eight years old. It doesn't fit me anyway."

"It will fit you in time. You just need to grow. My own father gave me a ring when I was young. Now I'm giving you yours. It's iron. It will protect you."

"Protect me from _what?" _

"From evil. From nasty, stinking imps. You know iron burns them. An iron ring is a thing of power. Every son of a discriminating bloodline should wear one with pride."

A wildness sparked in Otto's eyes, but he only nodded and drew in a slow breath.

"Thank you, cousin. It's very kind of you to trust me with this. I'll look at it in the morning. Goodnight, now."

"Goodnight. Sweet dreams," Roderich yawned as he strode out of the room.

"My father…" Otto whispered to the darkness and the storm. He reached toward the ring, but his reflexes dared not let him touch it. Instead, he threw himself beneath the bed, where the loose floorboard kept his secrets. He wriggled down into the hole, then crawled through the dusty city of spiders before emerging in Felice's room. The boy duke's whole body trembled, and he felt tears pricking his eyes as he descended upon the fairy boy.

"Felice. Felice, hey. Hey, Felice, hey. Hey! Hey!"

"What?" Felice groaned.

Otto reached out and squeezed him tight, sobbing softly into his shoulder. His nails jutted into tiny claws, and he gripped so the fairy couldn't even squirm.

"Otto, what do you want this time? We can't make pasta every night. I want to sleep."

"Felice, I have to run away. I can't tell you why, but I _have _to. He _knows. _He knows everything. He's going to kill me. I'm so scared."

"What? Who knows? Oh, is this about using Herr Edelstein's cufflinks for cookie art? We wiped them off. It'll be fine."

Otto wept. There was no consoling him.

* * *

**~N~**

**Apparently "reharmonizing Bach" is what music majors do for fun in the summer… yeah… I don't know what it means either. **

**It's the one-year anniversary of this story! Wow! One year of experiences shoved into these episodes. Some are more personal than others, but I have LOVED getting to know Gilbert and Roderich and Fritz and Adela and Luddy and Otto and Felice and Gigi (rip) and Ulrich (not you.) I liked working outside my comfort zone, trying different styles, and continuing to improve my writing. **

**Anyway, THANK YOU to everyone who gave a prompt for this special extra-long episode! I wrote one per day up until today, and each was really fun! "Flower crowns" for my pal Shrubby AKA drink_respect_lgbt_juice on Insta; "a canon-esque food-stealing scene" for CoveTPeng; "Feli being confused on humans" for Cat on the table; "Otto's odd behaviors" for Animetronic; and my own request which will steer us into the next episode. No teaser this week. It's top secret. **

**Like my 2000-word vignette style? Try out my crack fic, **_**Prussia Meows! **_

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net July 22nd, 2020. Stay hydrated, and do your laundry! Don't repost. **


	22. 2:14 A Nightmare Proposal (Part 1)

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**22\. A Nightmare Proposal (Part 1) **

**One day. Two missions. Four shaken people. After a storm rocks Edelweiss, secrets are quickly rising to the surface. **

**M **

* * *

**_Am morgigen Tag werde ich nicht mehr hier sein..._**

**4:31 a.m. **

A wicked darkness hazed all sense of location, and Roderich, who never had a nose for direction anyway, could only push on and hope his intentions would lead him.

The storm had passed. The ground was as dark and sopping and smelling of earth overturned. Roderich's shoes squelched and slid until mud poured over onto his stockings. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets, and his nose was buried in a scarf.

He was expecting to feel some tap on his shoulder or hear the gnashing of too many teeth chewing beyond the purple weeds. But the only thing invading his senses was the dreadful cold of fog and the white spots of lightning still flickering high above. A fierce wind chilled his ears and worsened the stain of tiredness on his eyelids. Far behind lay his bed — perhaps not comforting, but so much warmer than this.

Panic balled up in Roderich's throat, pushing against his spine and begging he return home. A white flash came and died, changing his eyes from black to purple and back again. But the pain and cold must have purpose! No son of Ulrich was versed in "excursions." One need not expend energy if he gained nothing from it!

Still, he stopped. Another pair of squelchy footsteps was pairing up with his own.

After a yawn, he looked onward. Some human-sized silhouette was coming near on the opposite edge of the road, walking tall and confident through the fog. In the wind, a ring of tendrils flared from its face. Roderich took one step down into the ditch, but the thing has already seen him. It cocked its wavering head, then darted forward. The master squealed, sharp cry piercing the sacred stillness.

"I _knew _that was you! What the hell are you doing out here? There are still wolves out this time of morning."

Roderich folded over, struggling to catch his breath. Above him was his… _lady, _Eliza, wrapped up in a hooded cloak. The waving tendrils were her hair, and her forceful movements came from years of outdoor gruntwork.

"What are _you _doing out here?" He retorted, wrinkling his beaky nose. He could see now just how much mud was staining his stockings. His toes were chilled to the bone.

Eliza stopped. She locked eyes with her huffing friend, but was speechless. Roderich straightened, then narrowed his gaze into that eagle-eyed glare of a man with no clue of his charms — that judgy iron aloofness Eliza couldn't stand. No, it was not obvious to him that she was headed to Edelweiss. The context scrambled his processes.

"I…" she faltered for a second. One must tread lightly here. Roderich was sensitive to a damnable fault… or is that only how she thought of him? "I was coming to Edelweiss to surprise you."

"Surprise me with _what?_"

Now, this was a _perfect _opportunity, but Eliza put it away. She was too shaken to think rationally, and he was in aloof mode. And besides, she wanted to _see _his reaction when _that _finally came to be. Feeling was only half the equation.

"The surprise is me checking on you after the storm," she said. Damn, if only he'd stayed home!

Roderich jerked at her answer. His cheeks grew warm, and he reached up to rub them with what thin gloves he'd pulled on. Check on him? She cared enough to _check on him? _What did she know? Did she have something to do with that… _nightmare?_ Or could she sense his feelings from afar? His heart couldn't decide whether to race or relax.

"You really wanted to check on me?"

"Yes," she said. Oh, there was definitely something more to that syllable. He could see it. But he'd live under the illusion she gave. She loved him!

"That's kind of you. I haven't slept at all."

"Oh no, why not? Did the thunder keep you up?"

"No, it was because of a bad dream…" He grabbed her arm and squeezed. "I had this _vision. _It was like a nightmare, but it all felt incredibly _real_. I have no memories of falling asleep nor waking up. The whole night is one fluid recollection. It doesn't make the slightest bit of sense."

"You wanted to come see me, then. You thought it might be dark magic."

"No! No, nothing like that. Surely, Eliza, you must realize I see you as more than a resource for the shameful arts. I only intended to ask you something."

"Ask me something?" Eliza squirmed in Roderich's grip. Was this his _honest_ idea? Coming to her in the dead of morning after some _dream _spooked him? She wouldn't put it past him, but dumb luck was no reason to jump the gun!

"Yes. I wanted to ask you if you could take me somewhere. Your broom can fly faster than any horse, can't it?"

She lifted the dusty broom in her left hand, a bit disappointed somewhere inside.

"You don't like riding on a broom."

"I'll stand it. I just can't be at home right now. There's something very important I have to do."

"Because of the vision? At least explain it to me first. You don't want to be serving evil spirits."

Roderich shook his head. "It's more paranoia than anything. You know I'm the suspicious type. If anyone's been trying to control my mind, I have to put a stop to it _today. No later."_

"So this is a magical mission."

Aaand, there went the shield of aloofness back on his face again.

"No… why would you think that?"

**6:43 a.m. **

Felice awoke with drool on his wings.

The boy duke had been sleeping in the fairy's bed all night. No amount of pleading or shoving or separating the blankets stopped him. Even after Felice gave up and curled up on the floor, he found Otto an hour later draped over him like a sock. His weight was enough to nearly flatten Felice's delicate bones.

So he switched from bed to floor, bed to floor, but fairies are sleepier than humans, and so he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to see Otto coming to drape himself again and again. It was all rather annoying, and so when the sky was changing, and he felt the stickiness of warm drool dripping on his wings, he decided enough was enough.

"Otto, it's time to get up. I don't like you sleeping on top of me. It's very mean, and I only want to sleep in the same bed as someone else if it's my brother. You have to respect my privacy."

He felt proud of that last line. It was what his mamma told him to say whenever his brother barged in on him using the toilet, but this situation gave him that same feeling of discomfort.

Otto kept his eyes closed, but Felice could see him twitch a bit, so he was clearly awake. The fairy hummed a little melody, and Otto's body floated upwards. Then he shoved him with as much strength as a "bug" could muster, and he tumbled to the floor beside the bed.

"Ow! Hey! What the _fuck _did you—"

"Get out of my room!" Felice screeched. "You have to respect my privacy!"

The boy duke clambered up. His eyes were like ice, and if a child were able to produce the warlike impression of a slighted tyrant, he certainly did.

"Why'd you shove me!?"

"I told you you can't sleep in my bed. If you want to sleep in my room, you have to be on the floor, and if I'm on the floor, you can't lie on top of me. That's _mean._ Look what you did to my wings!"

He whizzed them, splattering spit everywhere.

Otto bared his teeth — an animal action it was too early to consider as strange. Then he sat down on the floor and started to cry again — an action it was too early _not _to be annoyed with.

Felice slipped out of bed. His pajamas were slathered with spit and marked in places by strange rips and tears. Grimacing, he hid at the foot of the bed and made sure Otto didn't watch as he got dressed. It was once difficult to tie the laces under his wings by himself, but now he could do it in the dark.

"Why are you so sad? It's _unsightly,_" Felice said, using a word he'd learned from Herr Edelstein.

Otto wiped his eyes, then gave a little cough. "I have to leave this place."

"Why?"

"'Cause… I did something bad."

Felice screwed up his button nose. It must have been _really _bad if Otto actually cared about being punished. He'd been caned and slapped so many times, Felice learned the language of whether it was Ilse or Roderich imprinted on his skin.

"What did you do?"

Otto drew in a quick breath. "Em… it was a really horrible thing I did a long time ago. I think Roderich found out I did it. He's gonna be really mad at me… and then…" The ice of before was replaced by scurrying snow. "I have to _leave," _he said again. "You have to help me. You have to be the one to make me go away forever."

"What? Why me?"

"Because you're my only friend in the whole world, Felice. And people like me tend to latch onto friends harder than most because we need them more than most. If I don't leave this place, it's because our friendship is too strong."

"I'll come with you if you want. I'd like to see somewhere other than Edelweiss for once."

Otto sighed. "No, you can't get mixed up with a criminal like me. It's better for both of us if I go alone." With this, he turned and went to the door, visibly trembling under the traveling coat he was already wearing. "I'm going to pack some things… will you meet me downstairs in half an hour? I want you to walk with me to the end of the driveway."

But as soon as they both left the room, they paused. Something was hanging in the air — a haze of energy undetectable to human senses. Felice raised his wings and flew to the ceiling, where it was the thickest. He followed the trail and easily found the source.

Ilse's room.

Within the room, in the bed, there lay a gorgeous young maiden tucked up in rose petals. Her hair was golden. Her skin was pale, yet flawless. Her eyes were closed, but her chest never moved.

Felice shivered. He tip-toed to the edge of the bed and looked down upon her, expecting her to awaken. But she only lay cold and stiff on the petals.

On the bedside table were three items: an empty bottle, an empty ring box, and a rolled-up piece of paper. Otto snatched this, tearing off the string and uncurling it. Its message was written in blood-red ink.

"_**Ilse Marie Götz: **_

_**Thank you for your purchase of Evil Purging Potion. This is a top-seller for spring! As you are human, please take one drop with water each day over a period of one month. Tired of yourself? Ready to change for the better? Take years off your life! Amaze yourself and your friends as you transform from a mangy, hard-tongued hag to a pretty princess! Included also is your token for accessing us again and a coupon for 20% off your next potion purchase. *Excludes sale/clearance items and any potions involving ghostly gator scales, as these are in short supply. **_

_**Best wishes!  
**__**The Salamander Catalogue,  
**__**Care of Vlad" **_

"Ilse was a witch!" Felice squeaked.

"She at least dealt with demons at some point in her life. Take one drop with water… over one month…" Otto voiced after reading. He peered at the bottle, which was completely empty. "It took years off her life, all right. She drank it all at once. It shocked her system. She's dead."

"Dead!?"

"She didn't read the instructions. It was an accident. But she's definitely dead. That weird feeling in the air must be all the evil she purged from her body. Did you have weird nightmares, too?"

"Yeah. I had one _really_ scary one. Miss Elizaveta had blood on her face. So you can feel that stuff in the air, too?"

Otto cringed. He put the thank-you note back on the table, where it folded into a pair of lips and spat out a blood-red coin and a small printed card with the discount.

"I told you I have some fairy blood. Now, this is going to make Roderich even more stressed. I have to leave. I have to get my things. I have to be out of here before he wakes up…"

But a little investigation proved Roderich was nowhere to be found. Otto and Felice were the only two living souls.

**7:02 a.m. **

Eliza told him he was not dressed for flying, what with the light coat and silk gloves and thin, muddy stockings. He argued he would not go back to Edelweiss until his mission was finished. She argued she had no intention of returning to Birngarten. And so the two begrudgingly climbed on the broom, Eliza first, gripping the handle, and Roderich behind, gripping her.

A few hours later, Roderich's extremities were frozen solid. He had to keep peering over Eliza's shoulder to make sure his hands were still clamped tight around her. Gradually, he'd gotten used to the wind on his face and the air beneath his feet, but the turbulence still made him feel like a floppy sock in the wind. He was lucky he could bury his face in Eliza's hair whenever a sudden gust arose.

A blanket of moisture fell upon Roderich's shoulders. It shocked his nerves and chilled his skin and soaked his hair. He sneezed furiously and blinked away what droplets slid under his spectacles. Eliza was still a warm presence in front of him. He leaned into her and set his chin on her left shoulder. There was nothing to see in the clouds, yet she shot dauntless through golden-gray gloom. Roderich breathed her in, and his heart was calmed. He was frozen and shivering, but he could hold on. He _would _hold on… This had to happen today.

He was forgetting something hidden in the mists of muddled memories. It was sparkly, wasn't it? He peered into the clouds and thought he saw the face of his aunt, but it was replaced all too quickly by his father's pulsing face. Or… _his _face, pulsing, shifting, changing into that of his father. The feeling sank. Clouds billowing out like a swollen, bubbling stomach. Faraway lightning striping the sky like veins.

"I feel sick!" He howled over the wind.

"No place to land around here! You'll have to wait!" Eliza shouted back. "This should help you!"

She jerked the broom handle up, and Roderich felt tears pricking his eyes at the sudden shift in flight angle. Now they were vertical, rocketing up through the clouds and staining every piece of clothing with a wicked wetness. Roderich dug both fists hard into Eliza's stomach. He gripped her shoulder with his chin, then squeaked when he felt one of her hands softly stroking his.

Then they emerged.

Puffy clouds peeled away, and all was plated in brilliant, shimmering rainbows bathed in the gold of the heavens. Ahead were the ancient peaks of mountains, capped with cascading snow flows. Behind was the sunrise, huge and orangey and warm on the backs of the riders. Now Roderich's heart fluttered in his chest. Everything below was so soft and hazy and muddled, but up here — this was a hidden world!

They slowed, then hovered, spinning so they could see each corner of the firmament. Stars slowly faded, giving way to the tranquil blue of morning.

She turned back to give him a smile. For the first time that day, Roderich saw her face. It was wind-beaten, sure, but there was some deeper distress in the red-stained eyes and the loose lips. She was beautiful, but shaken. Perhaps… if he asked now…

No, if there was some personal issue rolling around her mind, he'd let it be. All must be content when the time was right. And clearly, now was not the time to indulge — not when the air was thin and the clouds obscured rocky ground below.

It was the same for Eliza. Her Roderich was haggard from whatever disorder had wracked him throughout the night. Though light painted the heavens, their guests were too heavy to ascend any further, and so they must continue on.

Nonetheless, she grabbed Roderich's hands in her own and interlaced their fingers, then gripped the broom handle so both of them had hold.

"Are we going the right way?"

"We should be. As long as you're going northwest. Once we cross the mountains, we find the Rhein. That should lead us to Liutberht."

The broom jerked.

"We're going to _Liutberht? _That cursed place? Why today?"

"No later than today. I have to do this."

"Do what? What was in the vision you had?"

"I'll explain it when we get there. It's not bad! You don't even have to come inside the castle. Just protect the broom."

"Why would I need to protect it?"

"I don't know. You might have to."

With an exhausted sigh, Eliza fell off the slow rise of air and plunged, with Roderich again squeezing her, back down into the clouds. Turbulence came on quickly. The spells she'd applied to the broom to keep riders safe from windburn were all unraveling, and she had no way of fixing them. Not now… not today, at least. Sometime later.

**11:05 a.m. **

The effect was how Otto had stated: It was now midmorning, and he still hadn't left Edelweiss.

"You can't run away yet. You're hungry," Felice had said, at Otto's noisy stomach. Otto replied he was always hungry, but nonetheless, the two of them took the time to mix and knead and cut and boil a pot of pasta. It had come to be their favorite secret activity, and now in daylight, they made it a most excellent breakfast.

"You shouldn't run away when you're all sweaty. Take a bath," Felice then said. Otto snarled at this, but obliged. One more relaxing half hour would surely do him some good, if it was his last. He closed his eyes and soaked in the tub until everything was clean and fresh, then washed his hair and lazed around in a robe until he was hungry enough to eat the rest of the pasta.

"You don't want to run away. You're all cozy," Felice said when Otto was nearly asleep again — in Felice's bed, of course. Otto whined and moaned, but begrudgingly hauled himself up and put together a suitcase of everything he'd need on his indefinite journey. Shirts, coats, trousers, gloves, woolen socks, and even a light blanket were packed away. Felice wrote down the pasta recipe and tucked it in with the socks, along with a biscotti recipe he was "ashamed they never got to try together." Otto said he'd eaten enough of Roderich's cakes for the sweetness he needed in life.

Then Felice walked with Otto to the end of the driveway, just as instructed, and here Otto planted his feet firmly in the dirt and refused to take another step.

"If you're going to run away, then run away. It will be the most exciting thing that's happened around here in months. When we find you again, you can see all the newspaper clippings I collected about your disappearance."

"I'm not running away to be found again. I'm a fugitive_, _escaping punishment. Do you think it's exciting for me? Having to run away from everything I've ever known? I'll never see the inside of that house again. I won't make pasta with you anymore. You can expect no more secret treats. I won't be able to explain those potions to you, either. When you run out, you won't know where to find more. Being a fugitive is good for no one."

"Then you're being an _ass,_ Otto," Felice said using a word he'd learned from Eliza. "You're making it sound really selfish, you know. You running away and leaving me here without a friend, and not even telling me why you're doing it. What's really so bad that you decide overnight you're dead meat on Herr Edelstein's property, eh?"

Otto visibly cringed at that last comparison. Without answering, he marched forward, taking his suitcase with him.

Felice fluttered his wings and hovered right alongside him. "Hey! Stop! I can't let you leave! You look all grumpy! I don't want a grumpy face to be the last I ever see of you!"

But Otto didn't say a word until the two came to Birngarten. He stowed his suitcase in a bush and looked at Felice with crossed arms. The fairy still fluttered, wings never tiring. His flimsy sandals were hardly kissed by dirt.

"What do you want?" Otto spat.

"I want you to buy me a cupcake."

"A cupcake. Sure. I can buy you one cupcake, and then I'm on my way out of here."

"If you say so."

"You think I'm the grumpy one."

"You never had a problem being smug to Edelstein about your naughtiness before."

"This is different. This is actually bad."

"So bad you can't tell your best friend?"

Otto looked at him. Everyone was looking at him. Two pairs of glittery wings upon his back, a flowy outfit, a golden laurel branch fastened in red hair that shone even under the mottled light of clouds… and those pointed ears! Otto was friends with a _fairy! _A magical being from a foreign land!

It was sad, really. How much he'd enjoyed a… another magical being's company. How much he liked walking through Birngarten like this, seeing the same shops change aesthetic, from wintry sparkle to spring petals, to summer cotton poofs in the air and autumn's murky haze of darkly magical scents. It was spring now — the dreary, rainy spring. Humid droplets collected on the back of Otto's neck. Water was his essence, but how cold it felt now. Better than the fire of iron, he told himself, but a most unwelcoming feeling.

Otto wiped a slime of sweat off his forehead and felt the sheen sliding between his fingers. He was close to the bakery he liked. He certainly had money with him — enough to buy hundreds of cupcakes. One look at the fairy's giddy smile brought the fog down to a manageable level.

"I'll get you a whole box of cupcakes. Just tell me which ones you like."

Felice waltzed inside and spent a good while selecting his treats. Otto insisted he'd buy a whole box, but there was no good in saving delicious cupcakes for later. Felice chose two: a pretty cake of blackberries, and a chocolate swirl. Otto, of course, went ahead and bought a box of everything, then another, and spent his time out on the stoop devouring them all.

"This was a good idea," he told the fairy. "Thanks."

"Are you calmer now? My grandpa always said if you're grumpy, it's because you're hungry. I guess pasta didn't tide you over. You've always had a big appetite."

Otto nodded. "Yeah, I'm calmer now. I'm sorry. I shouldn't spend all my time worrying. It's not good for me. I should just enjoy what I can in the moment."

"That still sounds like you're running away."

"That's here nor there. Tomorrow, I won't be here anymore."

He finished the last cupcake and wiped multicolored crumbs from his cheeks. Then he marched on his way again, through the streets of the high, high city. They passed the apothecary, but neither Roderich nor Eliza could be found. "They've gone on a _date," _Otto said, and the fairy wholeheartedly agreed.

"Hey, Otto, let's go in here! It says there are magic charms!"

"They'll be fake," Otto said.

But Felice had already disappeared within the shop — the one which had breezy artisan clothing and homemade soaps and lotions crowding the storefront window. Curious, Otto poked his head in. He was hit instantly by a wave of odor — the kind produced by darkness-repellent herbs. He held his breath and went inside. Felice was in the very back, beyond knitted caps and quilted handbags and shelves and shelves of soap. One by one, he was touching a variety of coins and pendants and vials of moss. He hummed and gave his wings a flick, but only screwed up his face in confusion.

"You're right. These don't have any real magic to them at all. None that I can sense. But they're all very pretty! Oh, cool, look at _these!" _

He held up a miniature pair of sewing shears. Otto lost his breath and coughed, stumbling backwards until he knocked over a coat rack that tumbled into a shelf of lotion bottles. A tremendous amount of odorous lotions spilled and spread out on the floor, while the boy duke scrambled to save himself from broken glass.

"Otto! Are you okay?"

Felice replaced the shears and flew over. Dipping low, he grabbed Otto's hands and strained his wings. The two of them lifted higher and higher in the room until Felice's head was gracing the ceiling and Otto's legs dangled perilously below.

"Feli, I can't fly," the other squeaked.

The fairy jerked him, his strength failing to accommodate such a cake-stuffed creature. Carefully, he flapped his wings, harder and harder, until both of them came to rest upon the counter. Otto surveyed his mischief with the lotion bottles. The sound of footsteps rang out clear in his ears, so with the quickness of a creature, he swiped up a handful of charms and a few bottles of lotion, then stole out of the shop, heaving in fresh air. Felice stood stunned, still within, but Otto beckoned with his eyes, and the fairy ran out as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Go, go, let's go!" Otto squealed, his face breaking out in a grin. He gave one lotion bottle to his friend. "Here, I got you the spring flower scent! You like that, right?"

"You just stole this stuff!"

"So? Have you ever been mischievous before?"

"Is stealing mischief?"

"Anything can be mischief. Now don't squeal. I'm an even bigger fugitive, and you're my accomplice."

The two of them ducked and crawled under a table outside a café. The white tablecloth concealed everything except the curly tips of Felice's wings. Together, they huffed and laughed until a waiter came by and shooed them out again.

"This smells so good," Felice cooed, rubbing some lotion on his hands. "Not as good as my mamma's soap, though. Sometimes seeing all the things humans make reminds me of how different I am."

Otto laughed. "Well, it's not like any of us have been to Allegria. Of course we can't represent your culture perfectly. You can't blame us. But that lotion does smell good."

"It does! Ooh, if you're running away, you should go to Allegria! Roma Villa! That's where my mamma and brother live. I'll be returning there soon for the summer, anyway. If you just wanted to wait a bit longer, you could come with me. I'd show you the vineyard and take you to the beach. Have you ever been to a real beach before? Next to the ocean? The ocean smells so wonderful. Eh, I like to put sand in jars, and when I take a bath, I pour it in the tub and pretend I'm at the beach! Fairy tubs are really big and deep, so if you have enough sand, it feels like you're walking on the ocean floor. All squishy!"

Otto let the vision wash over him like ocean waves. A magical land far away, where the air smelled of sea and the sky was painted gold. It was silly to romanticize what was commonplace for his friend, but compared to Edelweiss, that musty manor of hatred and worries, Allegria sounded so free!

"Eh?"

"You and me. Let's go to Allegria. You miss your family. I need something different. And besides, it's not good traveling alone."

"You said it's better for you to go alone. That it's dangerous to travel with a fugitive. I don't know what you did. Did you murder someone? You have to at least tell me your crime was petty."

"My crime was…" Otto rubbed more sweat off his forehead. He was thirsty. "I didn't murder anyone, no. It wasn't like that. It was different."

"Would it get you put in jail?"

"Not in this country, no."

Felice spat in his hand. "Then, with my magical spit against your mundane, will you promise that from this moment onward we'll protect each other?"

Otto reveled in the offer. He slimed up his own hand and shook Felice's, making sure to squish them together as much as possible. Did he… did he just convince his best friend to come with him… to a tangible place? Oh, it was all too good to be true. Something was weighing Otto's heart down, and no matter how much he squeezed the spit, he felt there was something to be overlooked.

He had _helped _to murder someone.

**1:20 p.m.**

Schloss Liutberht was dead.

Its structure still stood — stark and imposing, but the creepers had consumed entire walls, and the windows were all black with soot and the stains of rain. No horses whinnied in the stables. No goats or chickens wandered the premises. It was only stone and earth and a solemn silence hiding whatever evil spirits crooned their blasphemies within.

Eliza touched down, and Roderich slumped off the broom and into the dirt. He broke into a coughing fit, then had a little staring match with the castle, as if challenging it to frighten him. The witch, meanwhile, was already scanning the surroundings, brandishing her broom as some makeshift cudgel.

The woods around them were still in the process of blooming, and no thick grass marked the forest floor. Even the landscape was rather dead. Roderich's life proved even more depressing, but though some strange factor of this enticed her, Eliza had put herself on a pedestal as his counselor, and she would not mention the sheer moroseness of his being.

"Okay. Why are we here? What's so important that you have to do it here and today?"

Roderich clambered up, then lifted his nose and strode up the hill toward the front doors of the castle. He ran over his memories again and again. Last night he… he went to bed… or did he visit Ilse before bed? Something sparkly was blurring his memory of Ilse, but he knew he saw her at some point. He'd told her something important. Oh… it was _that. _He'd told her _that. _She'd been overjoyed. Then he'd gone to bed, and then began the nightmare.

Roderich reached down into his coat pocket. Furtively, he pulled up the cold ring stinging his fingers. It was a plain band with a crystal — a _diamond._

"In the vision, I transformed into my father," he said, shoving the ring back down.

Eliza looked puzzled as she caught up. "How did that happen?"

The ring felt heavy in his pocket. "I was in his Black Study, thinking about him, and the next moment my stomach was upset and I was growing into his image. My mind was changing too. It melted into an evil haze, and that's where my memories get confusing. I was myself, but it was like there were two sides of me. The ruthless one, and the rational."

"Was it that wicked changeling?"

He shook his head. "No, he hasn't been back in months. This transformation, whether real or fantasy, was my own creation."

"I want to call it fantasy, then. What you're describing would take an incredibly powerful spell."

"When I checked this morning, my shirt wasn't all torn. But it felt so powerful and real. I can reimagine every part of it perfectly."

"Was it painful or pleasurable?"

"It was both. It hurt until my mind stopped resisting. Then I wanted it to continue. I told myself it was my destiny."

Her arm slithered upon his back and rubbed his shoulders. "Then that was a stress dream, dear. What's stressing you out so bad? Why are you scared of your future?"

He stopped before the front doors. One spidery hand reached forward, but couldn't quite grip the handle. Last night, he'd watched the hand bubble and swell into something stronger, but all the ruthlessness had faded with the stars.

Ruthless…

"I'm not scared of my future. It's getting there that's worrying me."

Eliza reached for him, but he tore open the door to Liutberht and disappeared inside.

The place was even more dead within. What was musty before was dank now. What was dusty was rank. The tapestries were torn and crooked. The paint was chipped. Roderich felt his throat swelling and his tears welling up, but he pushed on. Upstairs. Down the hallways. Right to the ballroom doors, still left open. Some statues had crumbled. Others had been removed. But there in the center stood Ulrich and Gertrude, still gripping each other the same way they'd done years ago.

Of course, Roderich was taller now. But still the place sent tingling down his spine and put a peculiar smoke in his lungs. He went forward and addressed the statues.

"I can't stand your bloated face, even in stone," he told Ulrich. "I hope it hurt like hell to grow all cold and stiff."

The face of stone gave not a care for his presence. Roderich relaxed his shoulders. It was a one-sided argument.

"You were wicked in life, but I _do _honor your memory. I hold you close to my heart every time I judge myself for not being my best. You are responsible for my high expectations. Of course, I still can't stand the look of myself sometimes, but now I know why. It's because I wasn't made in your image. No man can truly become what he is not. But, mark my words! I feel a fire within me! It's growing! Perhaps, now, after so long, I will be able to find what you had lost in me. I am crossing a threshold. I can see my destiny through the clouds. I'm going to change into something you never thought possible, and you'll be surprised to know I'm doing it without magic. I'm doing it on my own."

Still no reaction.

Roderich sighed and took the ring from his pocket — the real reason he was here.

"Mama, papa, this ring is a gift from aunt Ilse. By the end of today, I am going to present it to the woman I love and ask her to be my wife. She is persistent, insightful, knowledgeable, and encouraging, not to mention she's as hopelessly eccentric as I am. Last night I realized something — it's time I made a decision that shapes my whole future. This is the decision I made. I'm proposing to Eliza, and I came all this way to ask for your blessing."

He kneeled before them, holding his hands in his lap. Minutes passed silently, and though they couldn't respond, Roderich sat still, listening for an answer.

When he was finished, he rose, then kissed their cold hands before turning and quitting the room, doors closing behind him.

Eliza bounded down the hall toward him. He squealed for the second time that day.

"I've finished my task. We can go home now," he told her.

She wasn't going to buy that. If Eliza knew Roderich, she knew he kept things carefully hidden in secret compartments of his mind, and that such compartments were hastily and messily organized. One decent look, and she could find anything she needed.

"That was like fifteen minutes. Are you saying you're ready to spend another several hours freezing your face?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I am feeling quite stiff from the ride. Perhaps it would be prudent to sit for a while."

He was visibly relaxing. Eliza smirked. If he sat now, he'd complain less on the way home. But _honestly, _why were they here? Did he need to spit on his father's statue to make some point? She reached out and grabbed his left hand, straining to feel for any nefarious new enchantments. But it was fruitless. Without a wand, her powers simply weren't strong enough. If this had been any day _but _today. Any day _after _today…

Her eyes traveled to the doors behind him. She saw to their opening. He sucked in his breath, but she'd already entered the room and come to face the statues.

Roderich expected some comment about his ever-spiraling traumas, but the woman only gave an awkward, one-legged curtsy and fidgeted with her necklace.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Herr and Frau Edelstein. I'm Eliza, a friend of your son."

His lady was meeting his parents! Roderich hid his beaky nose before it could go completely pink. He then seated himself on the sofa, all crunchy with dust, while she went on and on about their friendship, (omitting the witchcraft, of course.)

Roderich let out a little moan. His muscles were so cramped and sore from gripping for dear life. All he wanted was to sink into the couch and let everything grow squishy. All squish, like he'd become in the vision…

And what was he seeing now?

He rolled off the couch and crawled over to a briefcase! And not just any briefcase, but the plainest yet sturdiest briefcase one could buy! This was his father's! And it hadn't turned to stone!

Roderich slapped it on the couch with a _ploomph _of dust. The lock _clicked _at his touch, just like the one on the Black Study door. Within was a leatherbound journal, a series of papers marked _**Projekt Tarzenia**_, and a box with another six vials of tar like the one Roderich found in Ulrich's pocket. He uncorked one and sniffed. Lilac! It was a crude incense candle!

Perhaps this journal would explain the project, Roderich thought. He opened it and scrutinized the writing. Mostly dates and descriptions, with a few diagrams sprinkled in.

_**20 July**_

_**Experiment on subject "Hermann" with codename "Disclosure," Batch 5 a failure. Effluent not effective. Subject exhibited flu-like symptoms within five minutes of exposure, but was able to retain human form indefinitely. Subject will be detained for further experimentation. **_

_**14 August, **_

_**Experiment on subject "Joseph" with codename "Disclosure," Batch 6 a failure. Concentration of effluent and fragrance imbalanced, effluent overpowering. Subject could smell what it described as "fuel" before complaining of horrendous pain and reverting to imp form within ten seconds. Subject then collapsed, deceased. **_

_**4 November**_

_**New subject "Henry Kirkland" claims to have come from the Isle of Rain and sired a son there. Passing of genes will be looked into later on. Experiment with codename "Disclosure" Batch 15 a success. Subject noted a scent of lilac before exhibiting flu-like symptoms. After two minutes, physical changes were visible, beginning with paling of skin. Reversion to imp form took one minute, quickened by the sickness. Shapeshifting abilities were completely nullified. Exposure to fumes fatal only after 24 hours. Further testing on this batch needed. **_

These were not candles. These were weapons against the dark fae.

The box of vials was marked _**Batch 15. **_The successful batch. The one that made imps sick before forcing them to revert. It disclosed their identities without killing them and disguised the poison with a pretty scent! This was an incredible invention! The journal even went on to explain how Batch 15 was made! Simple crude effluent and natural fragrances! Miraculous!

"But..." Roderich muttered.

He flipped back toward the beginning of the journal. Many codenames were mentioned before Disclosure. Midnight. Snapdragon. Excalibur. Caesar. Fudge. And before those… _Sun. _

The candles he'd been burning at Edelweiss. They were called Sun.

_**12 January. **_

_**Experiment on subject "Helga" with codename "Sun," Batch 5 a failure. Effluent and fragrance imbalanced, fragrance overpowering. Subject exhibited severe flu-like symptoms, but only sign of reversion to imp form was paling of the skin. Subject deceased after 24 hours of exposure, retaining human form. **_

Roderich dropped the book, then scrambled to seize it and shove it in a coat pocket. His whole body went cold, and he didn't even feel Eliza pulling him to his feet.

"Roddy? What's wrong?"

"I know something about Otto."

"That he's a changeling?"

"You know, too!?"

"Of course I know. He's a rascal who eats enough for all of us, and he grows claws whenever he hugs me."

Roderich was disgusted. "How did you know and not tell me this? Eliza, I'm a _notary. _I make my living off the destruction of those _creatures. _I can't have one living in my house! In the shape of my only living cousin! The _Duke of Liutberht… _And I don't want it bonding with the son of my tutor!"

Eliza was appalled. "He's done nothing to hurt anyone! You can't think of _destroying _him when he's only a child!"

"He's not a child. Those things age quicker than humans. He could be our age, stuffed into that body and eating all of our food. Ach, I hate myself for not knowing sooner! It was only last night when I finally gave him the tip that I knew! I gave him the Ring of Liutberht, and I saw how he cringed at its iron. I may not know my destiny, but he knows his, and it's coming for him very soon."

"Why did you do that!? The poor thing was probably terrified! They're not monsters. They're _people._ I saw one take my mother once. It was a _person." _

Roderich recoiled at her furious face. No, no, he was losing her. She had to love him. This had to happen today, no later. Otto was a technicality. Otto had to be destroyed. No, not Otto. The thing posing as Otto. The thing that wasn't Otto… Otto wasn't… He'd always acted the way he did…

"_I'm only eight years old," _he'd said so sweetly, so _innocent. _

Bullshit. Everything was bullshit.

"Eliza, if imps are people, then you have to realize not all people are good. And if this _creature _we've been feeding and calling family has entered Edelweiss in the name of his own selfishness, leaving the real Otto imprisoned, hurt, or even _killed, _then it deserves to be destroyed."

The power in his words overtook her, but she was not done fighting.

"Answer me one question. Do you love Otto?"

"I… do."

"What do you love about him?"

Roderich could say nothing. If the Otto he knew was never the real Otto, then all hatred toward his impishness was justified. Every kick in the pants was well-deserved, no product of Roderich's insecurities! Roderich loved _nothing _about that boy. All kind sentiments were banished by the way he looked at the Ring of Liutberht. How _dare _that creature!? How _dare _it think it was better than the humans it ate from!? It was so _easy _for man to turn once his fellow's fault was revealed!

"I don't know what to say."

Sorrow. She'd seen it before, but never so cleanly. He was grieving for a boy he thought he knew. And now she found herself grieving, too, though she found some wrong in it. All was uneasy, like the gathering clouds. Perhaps she shouldn't be so harsh when loss was in the air… creatures deserved love, but so did a boy called Otto… and so did a girl called Eliza.

Roderich was taller than her. When did that happen?

There was too much tension. Something had to be done. Both felt it. Both wanted to lean in. Both wanted to reveal once and for all what poisons burned beneath, if only to satiate those confusing feelings and needless desires…

But both released each other and solemnly left the room of Ulrich and Gertrude, wanting nothing more than the wind in their faces to wash all warmth away.

* * *

**~N~**

**This episode was split into two parts due to length. See next chapter!**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net August 20th, 2020. Drink water. Don't repost.**


	23. 2:14 A Nightmare Proposal (Part 2)

**The Snarled Circle Chronicles**

**22\. A Nightmare Proposal (Part 2) **

**One day. Two missions. Four shaken people. After a storm rocks Edelweiss, secrets are quickly rising to the surface. **

**M **

* * *

**_Am morgigen Tag werde ich nicht mehr hier sein..._**

**7:12 p.m. **

Felice still wasn't ready to leave Edelweiss.

"I can't run away yet. This human flour makes really good pasta!" He said, and then packed himself a container of it. Otto said they could easily buy a bag of flour on the way, but the fairy was adamant everything be exactly the same, so future pasta pots would taste as wonderfully as the one they'd made for breakfast.

"I shouldn't run away when I'm all sweaty from running around today," he told Otto. Then he had his own relaxing half hour in the tub, scrubbing the oily glitter off his wings and dreaming of a tub three times as spacious. He combed his hair and laced up a fresh shirt and slipped his feet in his sandals. Now he was tidied up for an impromptu journey across mountains of springtime.

"I won't be able to run away if I haven't packed," he said at last. Though his belongings were paltry, he'd also stuffed his suitcase with flour and olive oil and the stolen trinkets and the heavy tomes stuffed with flattened flowers from the summer previous. After slapping himself with the scented lotion, he packed it away, and was good to go with his suitcase and lute case. (No somber pieces of Edelstein's were allowed to come with him. Only the cheerful music in his heart.)

And then, for a time, the two had simply relaxed, procrastinating in every which way. They baked a cake and ate it. They painted pictures and practiced music and tried, fruitlessly, to unlock the Black Study to see what horrors lived within. The closest they came was when Otto unlodged the gunk from the keyhole, and Felice commented on a clean and immaculate workspace. Someone dusted it!

"Herr Edelstein and Miss Eliza haven't come back from their date yet. Should we be worried about them?" Felice asked when he met Otto at the door to finally leave. His arms were already straining to carry his luggage, and he worried whether a journey on foot would require him to carry them through forests and fields. A floating charm must be perfected!

"We can't worry about them. As long as they're still gone, we're still safe to leave. We'd better go now."

"They stepped out onto the evening lawn and said goodbye to Edelweiss. Felice said goodbye to the front hedges and the flower beds, and he shouted over the iron fence and the herd of ostrich topiaries to where he knew the pixies harvested pollen and spores.

Then, with the golden wool of the sky separating one storm from the next, the children walked, or rather, trudged, all the way to Birngarten.

"Tonight, you are the honored guest of the Duke of Liutberht. We will dine in style, and you may order whatever you wish."

"Can I have all dessert?"

"You can order a dozen giant sundaes if you like. Whatever you don't eat, I will. Come on, this way to the fanciest place in all of Birngarten… which isn't that fancy, really, I've been to fancier, but you'll think it's fancy… you commoner."

"Your Grace, I'm forever in debt!" Felice screeched, bowing and folding his wings so they were parallel with the ground.

"Ha! Come, peasant! See the wonders!"

Its name was Goat Fur, and it was a pub.

Felice was amazed. Dim lanterns sat on the tables. Servers came around and took orders, then returned with food. Behind a long counter at the front was a shelf filled with various beers and other foul drinks. Felice had only tasted wine before — good, Allegrian Oracolio — not the bitter stuff Otto sneaked for him one time. And though all wine was some kind of bitter in the first place, it was another facet of fairyland he found himself missing.

"I've never been in a place like this before," he said as he fluttered up to sit on a barstool. "Do I just say what I want and I get it?"

"Yeah, but we're only kids, so we can't have any fun drinks," Otto grumbled beside him.

"You kids shouldn't even be sitting at the bar. Where are your parents?" The disgruntled bartender asked from the other end.

"Dead," said Otto.

"Half-dead," said Felice.

"Oh, you two want to be cheeky, do you?"

"I'm the Duke of Liutberht."

"Really? Where's your ring?"

With one dramatic movement, Otto pulled himself up and slapped one hand on the table. "I exude my nobility like a perfume! What fresh hell provokes your questioning of my status?"

The whole pub stared. Felice just laughed and laughed.

"You're Roderich Edelstein's little cousin, aren't you? Tragic boy? I didn't know you were troubled as well. Of course you'd be troubled. Living with that tightass."

"We are all fully fledged in the ways of tightassery. From my birth I was initiated, and now at age eight, I revel in all the disgruntling powers the universe has given me. You know my cousin revels in annoyance. Translate that knowledge to my smaller frame, and give my flitsome fairy friend here a chicken breast, _baked, not fried, _and a glass of Allegrian wine. I'll have five vanilla sundaes to start."

The bartender repeated the food orders to a server, who sidled off, amused. Otto plopped himself back down and grinned.

"I was born to influence," Otto said.

"But you're so naughty. I wish you would tell me what you did, please? You've been hiding it all day."

Otto put up his hand. "Where honor permits, a duke does not speak."

"But you're gonna tell me eventually."

"I speak of nothing."

"Otto, you're gonna tell me why you woke me up and cried all over me."

"What? Such shameful accusations! Silence yourself, lowly _Fré." _

"Okay, I _can _blame you for that. Fortunato Fré was a legendary Fairy King. You can't call me a Fré like it means a silly airhead."

"You're of noble blood, are you not?"

"Not all nobles are related to Fré. Don't be an unsightly ass, you _shitstain," _Felice said, using a word he'd learned from Otto.

The boy duke leaned in close. "Feli, you don't use 'shitstain' in a fancy place."

"I don't? Eh… sorry."

The bartender was already plenty peeved. When the sundaes came, Otto ate them, leaving none for his friend. Felice savored his chicken, and when he was finished, he ordered his own sundae and gushed at its deliciousness.

"Thank you so much! This is good. Can we have ice cream everywhere on our journey? Once we get to Allegria, we can have tiramisu and gelato and tiramisu-flavored gelato."

Otto whispered in his ear. "Hey, that's Oracolio up there, right? You should use magic and ask for some."

Felice shook his head.

"Come on. Do you want it? Even a taste? It's only mischief."

Felice cocked his head at the darkness taking root in Otto's eyes. Had he noticed that magical spark there before? Sometime before, that he couldn't remember? Surely, if Otto had fairy blood, it was…

Was Otto partly _dark _fairy?

"It's your last night here. Only a taste. We can run afterwards. We have our things. No one's in here to see anymore."

Felice shuddered, looking around them. No one remained. That much was true. But what was the price of mischief? He'd already taken part in stealing today. It almost seemed like… Otto was justifying something…

"Are you doing little bad things to make up for one big bad thing in the past?"

"No. Don't see it like that."

"Tell me what it was you did, and I'll tell you you're not a bad person."

"Naughty kid, are you?" The bartender joked.

Otto popped up on the stool and slapped his palm across the man's forehead. "_TRANCE," _he hissed, before the man fell into a strange haze and dropped his towel.

"Pour my friend a little bit of that Oracolio and ignore him as he drinks it. Then, when he's finished, you'll take the glass from him, put it away, and forget any of this happened. Ready? Begin."

Otto snapped his fingers. The bartender took the bottle of Oracolio, poured a glass, and set it in front of Felice. Then he leaned back, idle, as the little fairy took a sip.

"It's just like at home. Nasty and bitter, though. Wait, what kind of spell was that you used? I've never seen it before."

Otto snapped his hand up, but Felice was faster, dodging and pushing it away.

"Forget you saw that."

"It was a dark spell! Fairies like me can't use dark magic, but… you can. Otto, there's dark magic inside you. I can feel it now!" He squeezed Otto's hand and hummed, searching for the uncanny vibrations. When he felt them, he jerked his hand back as if he'd been burned. Otto's whole body was brimming with magic. He should be exploding. But he looked like a completely normal human boy. This was impossible, right?

"You're a wizard," Felice said. "I don't know what kind of fairy blood is in you, but you're so powerful! You're like my grandpa! No… you're stronger than my grandpa. This is weird."

The little fairy looked to the dazed bartender, then back to his friend. Otto looked sick. He was shaking, and goosebumps were spreading all along his arms. He hung his head, then pointed toward the door.

"Let's go, Felice."

Fearful, the fairy climbed down and took his cases again. He followed Otto outside, and that's when the two of them were seized by men in feathered hats and vests with an insignia of a fire poker crossed with a rose.

"Those are the two that wrecked the shop earlier! I know that kid! He lives at the Edelweiss manor, just east of here!"

"These are children," said the man struggling to control Otto. His accent was strange, flatter. He peered curiously down at the two with indigo eyes.

Felice tried not to struggle, but Otto was kicking and screeching. He whipped his head around at bit at the man in uniform who held him.

"You let me go! I'm the Duke of Liutberht! I have to be going now! Felice, use your magic! Do _something!" _

"_Why? _You _did _steal that stuff earlier! You said it was mischief, but it was still—"

"Shut _up!_ Why do you have to question every fucking thing? We've been caught! We have to run!"

Felice started to sing, intent on influencing the men who held them. But the vision of Otto in the pub, using _magic, _kept irritating something. He sang and lost focus. Sang and lost focus. Otto screamed at him, and he couldn't find the warmth in his heart to summon any sort of working magic.

The shorter man, who held Otto, was made to drag both of them by one arm each back to Edelweiss. Otto sniveled and whined the entire time, trying to rip away and deciding against it. If Felice couldn't summon the power to free himself, then Otto would be a prisoner, too. He'd made a promise to protect the other, and that included not making him scared.

If he showed his true power here… Felice wouldn't trust him.

"You boys owe that shopkeeper a lot of money. Are your parents here?"

"They're _dead!" _Otto shrieked.

"We don't know where Herr Edelstein is. He's been missing all day. And Auntie Ilse is dead, so…"

The older uniformed man smiled. "Well, we will stay with you until they return. We need to have a talk with them. We're knights from Amotoile, doing our rounds to check for suspicious activity and solve disputes." (He eyed Otto as he said this.) "My name is Paul, and this is Francis, my new recruit. Please don't be afraid of us. We're just doing our jobs."

Francis gave an awkward bow.

The knights ushered the children inside, where they quickly made themselves out to be sentinels. Even the luggage was taken and stowed somewhere where tit could not be retrieved

Once there was a breath of peace, Otto scrambled through the hallways until he came to the back door leading to the garden. He slammed it open and sprinted, stomping on all the mushy flowers and throwing his coat in the mud. Felice found him huddled at the edge, in a place where it looked like a path had once connected garden and orchard. Now only the iron fence stood to separate the wild from the mundane.

"Hey. Do you want to talk?"

"Felice, use your wings and fly me over the fence. Do it, or I'll _make _you."

Felice only kneeled next to Otto and folded his wings. He placed one hand over Otto's heart, then sang a song of healing. A soft light echoed off the tips of his fingers, and the more he pressed on into melodies beautiful and unreal, the more Otto's shoulders drooped, and the more his breathing steadied.

"Are you calmer now?"

Otto nodded, though tears were still streaming down his cheeks.

"You're a fairy of darkness."

"Yes. I am."

"So that means… you're a shapeshifter. You're not Otto. You're someone else, pretending to be Otto. And the thing you did… the bad thing…"

Otto threw himself on the paved path and shuddered, Felice's spell splintering and crumbling to pieces.

"There is no Duke of Liutberht. He was murdered, and his heir, his newborn son… I replaced him, and I fear he's gone, too. It's my fault. Edelstein knows what I am, and he hates me. It's my fault."

The fairy backed away, wings twitching. Otto looked up at him. Finally, he was free. He'd released the heaviness on his heart — admitted his wrongs. But now… He looked back at his hands. His nails were longer. They were growing, _sharpening, _until they resembled claws. He reached up and felt tingling ears, which were forming into points. His teeth hurt, and he flicked his tongue over a crooked set of fangs.

"Stay with me, Felice. Fly me over the fence and let me be free. Let's be free together, _both _of us. Let's forget this place and fly to Allegria. Show me the beach. I want to see the ocean."

Felice continued backing up. He watched Otto transforming, his face paling and twisting a bit as his guilt pulled him back toward his true appearance. He saw the boy freeze, then look at his hands and fight the changes, body plumping where it was too thin and ears flattening down again.

"Felice… I'm your friend. Fly me over the fence. Come with me! We're friends! Come with me! Be my friend! _Please!" _

"No! You _lied_ to me! You're a fairy of darkness, and you lied!"

"Why would I tell you the truth? Do you think I wanted you to know about this!? I hate being this! I hate what I did! Being human has taught me not everything is forgivable in the name of mischief!"

"You're not human, though."

"You will come with me. You will learn to forgive me. You can teach me to forgive myself. I'm begging you! If I stay here, I will die! You have to make me leave, and I'm begging you to come with!"

Felice ran. Otto ran after him. Claws raked flesh. Toes raked gravel. Otto's arms plumped with muscle, and Felice found himself dragged back toward the fence. He squirmed and screamed, but like before, his heart was unsettled, and his mind in no position to translate his emotions to energy. He only watched in horror as Otto's flesh bubbled and moved, hands growing to restrain him and cover his mouth.

"LET ME GO, _PLEASE! LET ME GO!" _

"PROMISE ME YOU'LL COME WITH ME!" Otto boomed in a voice much deeper and scarier than his usual childish one.

"NO! I WON'T LET YOU TAKE ME! YOU'RE NOT MY FRIEND! YOU'RE A MONSTER!"

He didn't mean this, and in the end, perhaps, Felice would have calmed down and simply flown him over the fence, promising never to tell where he went. But this is not that story, and when Otto heard that last accusation, his damnable changeling reflexes fired.

He pulled Felice's wings as hard as he could, and pain exploded in the little fairy's back.

**9:00 p.m. **

It was a turbulent flight back to Edelweiss. Another humid day left puddles swirling in the ditches and clouds hanging low like tangled wool. Stormy twilight came and went with its eerie greenish-yellow stain. It rained again. It blew again. The thunder and lightning conquered again. Roderich felt that same jittery ice clogging his chest at every swing and swoop of the broom through electric clouds. Eliza's hair went from soft to frazzled. Her soft shoulders grew wet. Her dauntless nature waned and sank under tiredness and cold.

Each hour fell like a stone. Today, Roderich had said. By the end of today, a prophecy would be fulfilled. He'd advance toward his future. He'd make something of himself. He'd become a partner, one of a pair. Hell, for the first time in his life, he could say he loved and enjoyed it like any other normal person on earth!

Long white fingers were gripping the broom handle before him. He let his head roll low and prayed Eliza wouldn't look back and see what an utter fool he was. Dragging her all the way to Liutberht and back. She didn't love him. She was his caretaker, his counselor. It was nothing personal to her. Not when he was a human ostrich, anyway… And not when he'd upset her… somehow.

Fat raindrops splattered on the roof of Edelweiss. The two touched down and dismounted the broom, stretching and groaning at another several hours' worth of soreness. If Roderich thought himself a wreck, Eliza was just as so. Her eyes were all red, and her nose was purple with cold.

"I'll run you a bath and make you tea, and you may stay at Edelweiss tonight," he told her. "It's a petty thing to offer for all I put you through today, but it's all I can think of at the moment. I haven't slept in so long."

She didn't respond, only trudging toward the door and stepping inside. The offer was everything to her, though she scorned her tired brain for admitting so. Roderich, that stone-faced idiot! He could croon and moan of all his woes and never think of fixing them — cheap right down to his inner thoughts. And so of _course _he'd be aloof and casual, just… _using _her, and for _what? _He never explained his mission. He only changed the subject. And to what? Another soreness in his life. Everything must be dark for Roderich! Persist through the darkness! Stand alone and never speak of your pain…!

She'd never spoken of her pain. She never said the real reason why she was on the way to Edelweiss so early in the morning.

She only expected him to notice her worried demeanor and say something.

Which of course he wouldn't. He _couldn't._ That was not his way. That was not her way.

"We're the same," she spoke into the darkness of Edelweiss. "We can try all we like to express ourselves and accept our wayward emotions, but our expectations are too high. Outside his piano, or my magic, we're stone-faced idiots. And I can't… use my magic… anymore… God, Roderich's in love with me, isn't he… and he's so damn attractive. I'm in love with that stupid, wicked, beak-faced—"

A squeal broke up her revelation. Oh, how she needed another squeal today. But this was a child's squeal. In the shadows, she caught a flash of blond.

"Otto? Why are you up so late?"

The boy duke had already disappeared. She followed his footsteps to the back door — the one leading into the garden. Pushing it open, she found a sopping pool of darkness and thorns.

"I hope that boy is safe. With how Roderich scared him last night…"

She heard Felice's squeaky little voice and followed it, navigating brambles and hedges and flowerbeds until she came to the edge of the garden. Otto sat next to Felice, who was huddled and crying. Otto produced some salve and bandages and reached out to touch the other, but Felice shied away. Otto then brought back both hands and blew on them. They were all swollen and glowing red. He'd touched the iron fence, she realized, and was now too scared to try escaping again.

Tread lightly.

"What are you two doing out here so late? You know there are wolves."

Otto brought his face up. His pupils were pinpricks, and he hissed at her with a mouth full of fangs. With one arm, he grabbed the little fairy, sinking claws into his already-stained chest.

"Otto, no!" Felice cried. "That hurts! Let me go! I don't want to run away anymore! You're a _monster! _You don't pull a fairy's wings!"

Eliza's heart quickened. If she'd had her wand, she could free the fairy boy in one flick. But she was vulnerable here, without even an iron charm to protect her.

"Otto, let him go. He doesn't like that."

"He's _mine!" _Otto screeched in a deep voice not his own. "He is my friend, and I'm taking him with me!"

"He is not yours. He's scared. Let go of him. No one is going to hurt you. I promise."

Otto wouldn't listen. He'd revealed himself too much already. He wrapped both arms around Felice and squeezed until his claws raked deeper. Slowly, he backed toward the iron fence. He felt the heat, but he couldn't feel his body. It was all automatic. Backing up. Squeezing. Readying teeth and claws for defense.

Eliza was drawn in, watching the fire. Hearing the screams and seeing the red staining Felice's shirt. She saw two travel bags stowed by the nearest hedge, and she darted forward. Midnight was near, and for once, she was going to express herself.

"You fucking imp! Let him _go!" _She shrieked, tearing the two of them apart. She shoved Felice back toward the hedges, where he fluttered his aching wings and hovered ten feet in the air. Good. Good. He could fly. He was safe.

A weight pressed on her arm. Something was slithering and squishing and crackling behind her. Felice's face turned to one of pure horror.

When she turned back, Otto was no longer a child. His muscles were swelling. His spine was stretching. His hands were bubbling and broadening and squeezing her tighter than Roderich ever could. In seconds, he'd grown to the size of an adult, soft jaw turned to harsh angles and big blue eyes turned to icy daggers. His shirt ripped and fell away to reveal a hulking, muscular chest.

"Otto… is this who you really are?" She choked out. "You don't have to be like this."

"Tell me, is Roderich in there right now with those knights plotting my demise?"

"No. And what knights?"

"_Liar! _He knows! He knows I helped kill his cousin and am just wearing his shape! I am _not _Hermann Otto Beilschmidt von Liutberht! I AM LUDO OF THE RHEIN!"

"So you… you killed Otto…"

The anger in his eyes blanked, but for only a second. Then incredible pain burst through Eliza's left shoulder. The grown man had her pinned against the iron fence, and his teeth were ripping through fabric and flesh, digging for the joint that would tear her arm from her body. She squirmed and fought, but he was far too heavy to move. One hand gripped her shoulder while the other pressed into her chest, claws scraping skin and releasing a warm stream of blood down her front.

"LET GO!"

He only bit harder, hungrier. She punched him straight in the face, and he faltered just long enough for her to spy the curious mound of flashing lights.

"Pixies! _Fy _and _Dy!" _

Her plea was in open air just long enough before the clawed hand clamped over her mouth. A swarm of pixies burst from the mound and swirled around Otto, biting and stinging him everywhere with nasty little teeth. Eliza's arm was numb. She felt something crack and _pop _inside. But just as her vision started swimming, she saw one more opening. Her right arm lifted, her fist flew, and she heard another _crack. _

She'd broken his jaw. He roared and released her, and she tumbled to the ground, pain taking away all her senses.

**10:59 p.m. **

Roderich lit the wick in the vial of Disclosure. The scent of lilacs clouded the odors of rain and spit and blood.

Tied to a dining room chair was Otto, once again shrunken down to child size. As the minutes passed, he began to cough, then sniffle and sneeze. His face flushed. His shoulders shivered. And then… just as it was written, he began to transform.

His body seemed to deflate. All the roundness evaporated as flesh sank to squeeze tight over the bones. His fingers stretched to knobbly twigs, skin crawling up to form webbing between them, and his feet shrank to tiny, clawed, shriveled things, equally aquatic in shape. His eyes grew darker, from sky blue to a deep and murky gray. Ears sprang up into pointed daggers that wiggled and twitched.

His ribs swelled to press out against his chest. His stomach sank to a starving pit. His skull of a face grew to consume all that once ate happily. Skin was mottled white and gray. Teeth were yellow. Hair was the green-black of waterlogged weeds. And yet, he was still the size of a child. The most hideous child Roderich had ever seen.

"You're different," Roderich said.

"I'm a river changeling. I was born from a shadow on water. So ugly, I was almost left to drown." He flexed his webbed fingers and coughed some more. "I can't transform. Even my size-shifting won't work. What have you done to me?"

"Nullified your powers. Now, you're going to answer some questions, and then you're getting what you deserve."

"You mean what _you _deserve."

"No, you're going to be executed. It's a new moon tonight. I think that's the perfect occasion."

The creature struggled in his ropes, whining and shrieking with a voice like water gurgling through mud. The sound could only remind Roderich of his vision, and it sickened him.

"How long have you worn my cousin's shape? Don't worry. You can't incriminate yourself more than you already have."

The creature whined louder, so Roderich flashed the Ring of Liutberht in his face, and he gave his tearful reply.

"Eight years. My whole life, basically. You've only known me, not the real Otto."

"Where is the real Otto?"

"He's dead. He… he was supposed to die that night at Liutberht. My p-patron left him outside in the cold."

"You had a patron? An _accomplice?" _

The creature nodded. "I was born in the middle of the Rhein, meant to drown minutes later, but I was rescued by the changeling Fritz. He took care of me the best he could. But I just wouldn't grow. Changelings are supposed to grow fast. I... had some defect. I could grow by magic, but it only stretched me thinner. I needed a stable body and a source of true love, or my magic would tear me apart. S-so he took me to Liutberht because he had a grudge against the Duke, Wolfgang. Fritz murdered Wolfgang and took his shape to act as a decoy, while he let me have the shape of Wolfgang's infant son. The switch was on the day of the party.

"I don't know what happened to Fritz. He was so old. I think he was ready to leave this world. He planned to die with the sin that he'd murdered a father and his child, and I would be left in caring hands, to grow up a changeling in the shape of a duke. And I took that mission seriously. I take it seriously even now, even when it's pained me for so many years. I mourn the real Otto. I might even deserve execution for his wrongful demise. But there's no struggle for power. There's no ultimate right or wrong in this world. I may have needed a body for my survival, but you have everything you want, and you spend all your time reveling in your own hatred. You can't live in the moment. I laughed _so _hard whenever that goofy red-eyed guy came out here. Hell, I laughed when your parents got turned to stone. You thought I was crying. I was _laughing._"

Despite his words, he was crying, tears splattering all over his quivering shoulders.

"You helped murder my uncle and cousin, and tonight, you almost murdered my girlfriend and kidnapped an Allegrian noble."

"There is no excuse for my behaviors, and I am ashamed of them. But please, please, l-let me live. Let me just… leave Edelweiss. I won't make Felice go with me. I'll apologize to him. I can make myself better. I know this is a wicked world, and I… I'm sorry, Roderich. Let my true form speak as witness. I am sorry."

Roderich closed his eyes. There were no more visions. No more good and evil. No Ulrich and Roderich battling for sovereignty over one mind. How easy it was for man to turn. How easy it was to forget the good and let darkness be the norm. To scour the white until wilted raven feathers consumed every pore. To seek destruction in the name of justice. To feel a lauded, decorated warrior for the victory unseen. To welcome madness and accept absurdity and include what was normal all along and hold it as a high and mighty feat. To forget differences, then remember them, and worship them like they were all saving grace.

All was equal. All were equal. Roderich's mind was completely at ease. The threshold was rushing toward him. He had never been in this positon before. Always simple to see a strange imp find its fate, but to know his own house would be just a bit emptier? It was already emptier. He'd found Ilse dead upstairs. She'd died of joy hearing of the engagement plans. But now, with this _creature _hissing and snarling and whimpering and walking himself in circles with what he deserved and didn't deserve…

He was a criminal, wasn't he?

Roderich turned to the knights, who were still standing in the foyer, watching the travesty unfold. They stared back at him, as he wore nothing but underwear and a robe.

"Take him outside and make it quick. I'll write up the paperwork in the morning."

Roderich trundled up the stairs, and that was that.

Eliza lay in his bed, too pained to sleep. Her left arm was blotchy with bruises and steeping blood at the bandage on her shoulder. She looked at him and squirmed, but he gently pushed her back into the pillows, wincing at her indecency.

"Roderich, the physician found out I was helping him with my magic. He snapped my wand in half and told me if I didn't leave by sunrise, he'd snap my broom, too. That's why I was on my way here this morning. I had nowhere else to go. I hate feeling so helpless, believe me. That's why I lied to you."

"You didn't want to check on me?"

There was no aloofness in his face. It was all warmth and concern now. What idiots they'd been.

"You were coming to me anyway. I hope you got what you were looking for. Agh…"

She gasped. A bandage had come free, and blood was staining all the pillows she lay upon. Roderich snatched up the black bottle he'd fetched from the Black Study. He uncapped it and poured its fizzy silver contents onto a rag. The stuff singed his fingers with cold.

"This isn't rosewater, but my father used it a long time ago to clean and heal changeling wounds."

"It was like fire in my veins. Do they have venom?"

Her breath was ragged. Roderich unwrapped the bandages as quickly as he could. "No. Just very sharp teeth. You'll be okay. Just hold on."

"I know how to hold on."

"I know you do. You wrapped these tight. Now this is going to sting really bad, okay? I'm going to count to three, and then press it on your shoulder. Ready?"

She nodded.

"One… two… three."

He pressed the rag to her shoulder, and in the same instant, he kissed her.

Her eyes opened wide, but she leaned her head forward, savoring his touch over the pain of the potion. He was so soft and delicate. Each press of his lips to hers was like a gentle puff against her skin. She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him closer, then trailed her right hand down between the openings of the robe, feeling the humble leanness of his chest and the warm, cakey fluff of his stomach, always hidden beneath that constricting waistcoat.

"You're like a marshmallow," she breathed.

"Do you like that?"

"I _love _that. Roddy, I _love _you."

He tucked some frizzy hair behind her ears. "It's Roderich, and I love you, too. It shouldn't have taken this long for me to say that. Was that our first kiss? We've been missing so much."

"Well, we were both waiting for the perfect moment. I suppose if I were going to die, this would be it."

"You won't die. The wound's all sealed. You'll just have a scar."

Her arm was all stained, but otherwise miraculously healing. Her numb fingers started tingling again.

"That creature… is he dead?"

"It had to be done."

"I understand."

Shaking, Roderich then plunged his hand into the pocket of his robe, fishing up the Ring of Destiny. Her left hand was too swollen and numb to accept, so he slipped it on the finger of her right.

"Elizaveta Héderváry, will you marry me?"

She marveled at the diamond, but shook her head. "Oh, Roderich, I can't give you an answer right now. This isn't a day I want to remember fondly. Kiss me until we're both out of breath, but marriage is a heavier subject."

Roderich shifted. "Well, I only told my parents I would ask you today. Whether you'd like to be a permanent part of the ostrich nest is your decision."

She found the courage to laugh at this. Then she leaned forward and kissed him again, sweet and soft. He tasted better the second time, like fresh cream and slippers.

"Get some rest," he told her. "I can sleep downstairs. It's closer to the cake."

"Goodnight, then. Stay safe."

"I will."

He closed the door, refusing to be solemn. For once in his life, Roderich Edelstein was content with everything in the world. The snarled circle within his heart was quieted, and even the dreadful chill of his actions hadn't yet reached the warm part of his brain.

Now, there was another important matter.

He fetched the blue wand from the Black Study and found where Felice lay huddled and fitful in his bed. With a slight poke to the fairy's forehead, Roderich uttered a word:

"_Breele." _

Then the little one fell into peaceful sleep, all fears forgotten.

* * *

**~N~**

**This episode is a combination of so many different things: Descriptions, continuity, call-backs, my first time writing something legitimately steamy, and the second time in the history of my writing career where a skinny guy goes and kneels before his stone-cursed father. Themes, themes. **

**This was a bear to plan, though! I wrote Rod and Eliza's segments first, then went back and did Feli and Otto's, and I had to make sure they all made sense with each other. Suffice to say, I'm going back on crack until I have the strength to write the next episode. (It's too painful writing this and thinking back to the original Hetafata...) **

**Thank you to my beloved BFG (Best Fricking German) for the tasteful translation, my rat-wrangling friend for letting me experience broomflight, (simulated by four-wheeling on the highway,) Groove Coverage's version of "Poison" for existing, and Felice for putting up with everything. **

**Next episode: TBA**

**Published by Syntax-N on FanFiction . Net July 20th, 2020. Follow the rules 'til you can't anymore. Be true to yourself. Know what makes you you. Also, try new things and praise yourself for doing well. And brave the bunker that is American college. And drink much water and eat salad. And don't repost. That is all. **


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